Straight Paths
by Nili
Summary: On their way to meet with the Rangers, the twins encounter a horde of orcs, leaving both of them wounded. Now Elladan must get them back home, but for that they have to face memories and truths they have been trying to ignore for a hundred years.
1. Unforgotten Past

**A/N:  
  
*horrible singing can be heard, coming slowly but surely closer*  
  
Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Biiiiiiiirthday, dear Kaeera, Happy Birthday to youuuuuuuuuu!!  
  
*bows to cringing readers* Thank you, thank you! And now, let's all sing this wonderful song for Kaeera because (Duh!) it's her birthday! *Kaeera screeches in fear and runs off* Ah well, nobody appreciates true art anymore, it's really sad... *g* Okay, whatever. I'm a little weird today, pay me no heed.**  
  
**As most of you know, this is Kaeera's little birthday-twins-story. In comparison to my other stories, it's very short, only five chapters. There will be NO Aragorn or Legolas in this story, only the twins, Elrond and various other Imladris elves, including Erestor and Glorfindel. The whole story was inspired by an meagre little sentence in my second story, "The Heart of Men". It was just an innocent comment on my part, really, but Kaeera wanted to have a little background story and kept nagging me about it, so here it is. *g***  
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** **First I wasn't all that happy about the story, to be honest, but the more I wrote the more I came to like it, and now I am quite fond of it even though I'm afraid that it's more of an Elladan-story than (as demanded by the birthday girl) an Elrohir-story. *shrugs* That happens when the latter is unconscious all the time**. ***evil grin***  
  
**Okay, so once again: Happy Birthday, Kaeera! I really hope you'll enjoy this little story which is a bit angstier than my others but just as weird! *huggles her*  
  
Very well, enough of the ranting and on to the story!**  
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Straight Paths  
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** **By:** Nili  
  
  
  
**Rating: **PG-13. I think I am unable to write anything below that rating. Sad, but true. *g*  
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Spoilers: **Well, since this story was inspired by a single paragraph in one of my previous stories, "The Heart of Men", I suppose there are spoilers for that story in here, at least for chapter 2. There also may be some spoilers for my current story, "To Walk in Night", even though these passages are not even written yet. I know, it's hard to understand, but there may be some in it eventually. I'm not sure yet, but it's possible.  
  
  
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Disclaimer: **I do not own anything in Middle-Earth, every recognisable character, setting, place and so on belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs. The rest (places, characters etc.) belongs to me, and I tend to react violently when I find that someone has kidnapped one of my characters or something of that sort. I do not have permission to use any of the above, but I do so anyway. Evil, hmm? And yes, this story was written just for fun, and I _certainly _will receive no money for it, which would be a great way to earn my living on second thought, though. Please do not use any of my original characters without asking me first. Thanks a lot.  
  
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Summary: **On their way to meet with the Rangers, Elladan and Elrohir get involved in a fight with orcs. The decision to fight the dark creatures soon backfires, leaving both of them injured and Elrohir's life hanging by a thread. With his twin's life at stake, Elladan must get both of them back home, but the twins soon have to realise that they must not only fight their unhospitable environment but a darkness that has been growing inside of them in the past hundred years if they wish to make it back to Rivendell alive.  
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Series: **Well, it technically belongs to my mini-series, which doesn't have a name and will never _get_ one I think, but it takes place long before my first story. So, this is my forth story, after **"An Eye For An Eye"**, **"The Heart of Men"** and **"To Walk in Night"**, taking place in III, 2642, roughly three-hundred years before **"An Eye For An Eye"**.  
  
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Additional Notes: **This story is a birthday present for Kaeera, a fellow ff.net author, who is slightly obsessed with the twins and especially Elrohir and got bitten by a plot bunny some time during my second story after having read a part that I thought to be rather innocent and lacking any angst-potential whatsoever. So, essentially she bugged me until I caved in and promised to write a little background story for her, and voilà, this story was the result.  
  
I must state here that I am aware of the fact that I am not Tolkien, and therefore do not even begin to sound like him, something that can only be commented with "Duh!" in my opinion. I could never write as well as he does, so well, you will have to bear with me.   
  
Another little note about the Elvish (only Sindarin this time) used in this story: I have lately started to really look into both languages, and am now deeply ashamed of the "Elvish" I used in my first and partly also in my second story. So, for example, this is the first story in which I use "mellon nín" instead of "mellonamin". There is another version, "mellon nîn", which is also correct as far as I know, but my dictionaries consistently state that the possessive pronoun only has a simple accent, so I chose this one. *shrugs* I guess you can use both.  
  
And last but not least: Most of you will know that English is not my first language, and not even my second now that I think about it. *g* So please, tell me when you find a blatant and horrible mistake somewhere - and you will, trust me. Pointing them out to me doesn't bother me at all and really helps to improve my English. Thank you!  
  
  
  


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Chapter 1  
  
  
It was a sunny, beautiful morning, one of the mornings that were so glorious that they awoke in one either the urge to sing and thank Ilúvatar for things such as these, or the urge to turn over, pull your blankets over your head and never again to emerge from that dark, peaceful place that was your bed.  
  
While the sun was making her way across the sky, her light beaming down on the elven refuge of Imladris, one of aforementioned elven refuge's inhabitants experienced the latter urge, and with an old, rather vicious curse he burrowed his head in his pillows, golden hair all but disappearing under his blankets and cushions.  
  
It was of no use, the golden haired elf decided after a few more minutes, he was awake, and wouldn't be able to go back to sleep in the near future either. He tentatively freed his head of the covers he had pulled over it to protect himself from the sun's harsh glares and carefully opened his eyes he had clamped shut because of the same reason, deciding that he must have been insane agreeing to return from the Halls of Mandos for _this_.  
  
Lord Glorfindel of Imladris, formerly of Gondolin, slayer of a balrog, survivor of more than his fair share of wars, battles and challenges, including helping to raise a pair of exuberant, very, very energetic elven twins, fierce and fearless warrior and friend and advisor of Lord Elrond Peredhil of Rivendell, looked up at the ceiling of his bed chambers for a few moments and asked himself why in the name of the One he had let Erestor talk him into their little drinking contest yesterday.   
  
He scowled slightly and decided that the dark haired elf was far too sneaky for his own good. Glorfindel had known the other elf for a long time, ever since he had returned to Middle-earth to be exact, and, after some centuries, had come to the conclusion that Erestor was as stiff as a stick nine tenths of the time, but that it was dangerous to be anywhere near him during the tenth tenth. Because then, all of Erestor's thirst for adventure and mischief came into the open, all in a span of a few months.  
  
It was a time Glorfindel usually tried to spend in the slightly boring but incomparably safer woods of Lothlórien, but this time Erestor had somehow managed to surprise him, and now here he was, lying in his bed and feeling as if someone had filled his mouth with rotting moss and his head with sharp stones that insisted on grinding against each other.  
  
He threw back the light covers and slowly sat up, inwardly cursing Elrond for building a house whose walls moved and swayed back and forth. While Glorfindel struggled to his feet, he decided that all this was Erestor's fault. He had started the last evening peacefully, and had just sat down with a bottle of Dorwinion wine to watch the autumnal storm that raged outside the safe borders of Imladris but was still plain to see for his firstborn eyes when Erestor had shown up, wearing a smug, annoying grin and holding an obscure, rather large bottle in his hands.  
  
'I should have known better,' the golden haired elf decided as he slowly and carefully made his way over to the bowl filled with cold water, 'Ever since that incident with Elrond, Thranduil and him I really should know better than to drink anything in his company…'  
  
Something was missing though in his memory, something important, and Glorfindel tried to remember what it was while he washed and then clothed himself. There had been a reason why he had drunk that wine in the first place; it was not the thunderstorm that had made him want to drink some of the rather potent, albeit excellent red wine his lord treasured so much – even though not nearly as much as King Thranduil…  
  
Suddenly, the missing piece of information found its place in his head, and the elf let himself sink back onto his bed with a groan. Yes, of course, there had been a reason why he and Erestor had decided to drink, even though it was still all the other elf's and that accursed liquid's fault he had brought with him: Elrond's twin sons were to depart today, and if he was judging the position of the frightfully bright sun correctly, they would be leaving in about half an hour.  
  
Glorfindel slowly and carefully burrowed his head in his hands, suddenly wishing he had drunk even more so he would still be asleep. Yes, that had been the reason why he had felt that he needed some cheering up in the first place: Elladan and Elrohir were due to leave today to ride with the rangers for a year or two, an occurrence that was not seldom anymore.  
  
The golden haired elf slowly got back to his feet, telling himself to start behaving like the elf lord he was. Hiding in his room like a scared elfling would solve none of his problems; besides, it was most unbecoming an elf lord, especially one that had slain one of Morgoth's fire demons and survived the destruction of Gondolin – in a way, at least.  
  
While he was fastening the bindings of his dark blue robe, trying very hard to ignore the fact that his brain was trying to part company with the rest of his body by squeezing out through his ears, his thoughts returned to the twins. He shook his head sadly; it was so hard to recognise the cheerful elflings with the easy smiles in the hardened, emotionless warriors they were now. "Riding with the rangers", that was a term that usually meant "Killing every orc they could possibly get their hands on", and risk far more than they should in the process. Both of them had always been rather reckless, especially the older one, but never like this. He had long ago lost count of how many times he had seen these two in the healing wings in the past century, ever since…  
  
Glorfindel stared at his reflection in the looking glass and lowered his eyes when he finished the last thought. Ever since their mother, Lady Celebrían, had left this world to find healing in the Undying Lands, healing from what had been done to her during her brief captive among the orcs. The elf shook his head, gripping the brush with which he had tried to untangle his exceptionally stubborn hair. The lady's captivity had been relatively brief indeed and the twins had freed her soon after her capture with a host of warriors, slaying every single one of the foul beasts that had dared lay hands on her, but it had been too late.  
  
What had been done to Celebrían's body had not been incurable, but the wounds to her spirit had been nothing even the best healer in all of Arda could heal, and the Valar knew that Elrond had tried. Glorfindel shuddered slightly at the memory. It had been nearly exactly 132 years ago, but he could still remember the despair and helplessness on his best friend's face when Elrond had realised that nothing in this world, not even his love or that of his children or parents-in-law, would be enough to keep his wife with him.   
  
He could remember as if it had happened yesterday how they had stood on the pier in the Grey Havens, watching Celebrían's ship disappear in the distance. Arwen had clung to him, sobbing openly, but Elrond and the twins had just stood there, grey eyes fixed unwaveringly on the vessel that took away their wife and mother, nothing on their faces, no emotions, no pain, no sadness, nothing.   
Only when his lord had turned Glorfindel had glimpsed some of what was going on behind that stoic exterior, and the expression of utter hopelessness had been enough for his heart to almost break in his chest. Losing yet another one he loved had almost been enough to break the Lord of Imladris, and for a long time Glorfindel and many others in Rivendell had silently feared that he would either die of grief of leave for Valinor as well.   
  
The golden haired elf sighed softly, gratefully noting that his headache had receded to bearable levels; it appeared that, finally, his elven regenerative powers had decided to make an appearance. That outward hopelessness and coldness still hung over the remnants of the family that had been torn asunder by the dreadful happenings more than a century ago. The Evenstar spent now more time in Lórien with the Lord and the Lady than here in Rivendell, and Elrond had buried himself in his work so that one hardly saw him anymore. The twins rode with the rangers as often as possible, trying to soothe their hurting souls on their unrealisable crusade to kill every orc ever spawned in their attempt to avenge their mother.  
  
And that, Glorfindel decided with another small sigh, had been the reason why he had decided to cheer himself up with a bottle Dorwinion when Erestor and his human brandy had shown up and the whole thing had descended into a drinking contest that would have killed any being not of the firstborn race.   
  
The twins _always _managed to get themselves almost killed while hunting orcs, and it _always _was his duty to gather a small host and drag what was left of them back to their father so he could try and patch them up. That in combination with the fact that he was stuck here in Rivendell with an Erestor that was having his adventurous and reckless time of this _yén _was enough to make even the strongest warrior despair, and Glorfindel was, after all, only elven. Not even he was unaffected by impending doom, and the _look _Elrond would give him when he brought the elf lord's sons back home half-dead once more classified as exactly that.  
  
Glorfindel stepped out of the Last Homely House, finding himself wishing that the sun would fall out of the sky or simply vanish. He didn't really care, as long as the end result was that it was nice and dark and cool for a while. When he realised that nothing of that sort would happen, he gave a hopeless sigh and went in search of his lord. If he knew Elrond at all he would be in the gardens, looking at the roses Celebrían had loved so much and trying to come up with a way to convince his sons not to go.  
  
Not that Elrond stood the slightest chance, Glorfindel shrugged inwardly, Elladan and Elrohir were the Lady Galadriel's grandsons after all, and none except perhaps Arwen were as capable of reasoning their way out of almost every situation they encountered as those two. The Lady of the Golden Wood's way with words was fabled among the firstborn, and more than once he had heard someone say that Lady Galadriel could convince a dragon to become a vegetarian, a wish that the beast would probably have satisfied without needing to be convinced because it was so enchanted by her beauty. Especially Elrohir seemed to have inherited her talents, and his lord had no chance against someone who was a blood relative of the Lady of Lórien.  
  
Not that Glorfindel expected the twins to listen to the voice of reason in the first place. That was yet another thing that had happened ever more often of late: They didn't listen. They didn't listen to advice or orders or anything else that might interfere with their self-appointed mission, and that was something that was beginning to scare the blonde elf and he knew that his lord felt the same. If the twins were not careful, they would get themselves killed, rather soon, by rather ugly means, and he didn't even want to think what that would do to Elrond.  
  
He was still contemplating what the family of Lord Elrond Peredhil had done to the Valar to deserve this kind of punishment when he rounded a large tree that was had grown onto the path and stopped dead in his tracks when he almost ran into the elf he had been looking for all the time. In front of him stood his lord, clad in robes the colour of the wine Glorfindel had consumed in such large quantities the night before, and the sight alone was enough to make his head start throbbing again.  
  
Elrond looked at him with a raised eyebrow, grey eyes travelling over his pale and slightly dishevelled looking advisor.  
"I would wish you a good morning if not for the fact that it is nearly midday."  
  
"How kind of you to remind me, my lord," Glorfindel grumbled in mock irritation.  
  
The dark haired elf simply raised the other eyebrow, a decidedly smug expression stealing over his face.  
"A long night, I presume?"  
  
Glorfindel looked at him accusingly while they were slowly walking back the way he had come.  
"Erestor told you!"  
  
"Indeed," the Lord of Imladris smiled, the superior smile of the ones that always know everything that is going on around them. "I stumbled over what is left of him earlier this morning." He gave his friend an admonishing look. "There was no reason to write that particular word on his forehead."  
  
Glorfindel ducked his head.  
"No, my lord."  
  
Inwardly, the golden haired elf had absolutely no idea what his friend was talking about. What word? He hadn't written anything on Erestor's forehead, had he? Of course there was no way he would admit that he didn't know what Elrond meant, for elf lords do not appear clueless in public. Under very nearly no circumstances, and he would _not _appear clueless in front of his half-elven lord.  
  
"And I expect more mature behaviour from both of you from now on."  
  
"Yes, my lord."  
  
"And I _never _want to hear that song again."  
  
"No, my l… What song?"  
  
Elrond arched a dark eyebrow, eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at the confused face of his friend and advisor.  
"You mean that you were too drunk to remember the song the two of you were singing for most of the night?"  
  
Glorfindel looked back at him, mortified, inwardly vowing to do something horribly painful and embarrassing to Erestor in the near future.   
"It wasn't … it wasn't _that _song, was it?"  
  
"Oh yes," Elrond muttered darkly, stopping at the entrance to the gardens and looking around for his sons, "It was. The one and only."  
  
A small noise, sounding suspiciously like a whimper, escaped Glorfindel's throat, but it wasn't a whimper of course, since elf lords do not whimper. They had sung _that _song? The song King Thranduil – no, he had been Prince Thranduil then – had taught all of them when he and his father had visited Rivendell about two millennia ago and they had… Glorfindel ended that train of thought abruptly. He wouldn't think about that, nor about the faces of King Oropher and the High King Gil-galad when Elrond, Thranduil and he…   
  
The blonde elf's pale face turned even whiter. On unspoken agreement the four of them had never again spoken about that night or the song they had sung for most of the time, and for two thousand years he hadn't thought about it. Whatever had possessed him or Erestor to sing it again was beyond him.  
  
"Oh," he said faintly, looking at the stern face of the dark haired elf, "I am sorry, my lord. I don't know how it happened, but be assured that I will find out and then…"  
  
Elrond who had kept a straight face suddenly grabbed the other's shoulder and began to chuckle loudly. The chuckling grew louder until the Lord of Imladris was very close to a hysteric fit, and all Glorfindel could do was stare wide-eyed as his friend nearly collapsed onto the ground.  
  
"Don't be," Elrond ground out in between waves of mad chuckling, "Oh, the sight of Erestor with that … that word on his forehead was priceless…"  
  
Glorfindel's first reaction was indignation, and a part of him decided to find out whatever that word had been, and if he had to get it out of Erestor himself. After a second the indignation turned to surprise and a quiet joy however when he realised that Elrond was laughing. He hadn't seen his lord so carefree and lighthearted for a long, long time, to be precise ever since a certain silver haired lady had left for the West. The sound of his friend's laughter was something he sorely missed, and he hoped with all his heart that at some time someone or something would be able to give back Elrond the hope and joy he deserved so much.  
  
"I am so glad I can amuse you, my lord," Glorfindel said wryly, smiling at his friend who was slowly regaining his composure, "Whatever would I do if I weren't laughed at once a day? I would surely miss it."  
  
"It's your own fault," Elrond shook his head, fighting off the waves of laughter that were still threatening to overcome him and reminding himself to act serious like an elf lord should, especially in front of his golden haired advisor. "You really should know better than to get drunk with Erestor when he's like this."  
  
"I didn't want to get drunk!" Glorfindel protested, rather lamely. "I was perfectly happy with my bottle of Dorwinion when he and his brandy made an appearance…"  
  
"You mean _my _Dorwinion?"  
  
"Uhm," Glorfindel made, trying not to look at the other elf and at the same time deciding that he was making a lot of very un-elf-lordly noises today. "There they are!"  
  
He pointed to the left where two dark haired elves were appearing, leading their horses behind them. Both of them were tall and lithe, with grey eyes and long hair that was braided to keep it out of their eyes, and if one didn't know them it was impossible to tell them apart, especially when they were clothed alike as they were now. The two of them wore simple, yet elegant garments in the soft grey that was the traditional colour of the clothes the Elves of Rivendell made, and packs and bags could be seen on the backs of their horses. Both were armed with sword, daggers and quiver, the weapons gleaming brightly on their belts.  
  
"Yes," Elrond agreed softly, "Here they are."  
  
Elladan and Elrohir were quietly talking among themselves and slowly came closer, and the Lord of Rivendell shook his head, turning back to his friend.  
"I wish wine would cure it, Glorfindel. I really do."  
  
Glorfindel inwardly shook his head, once again amazed that Elrond always seemed to know what he was thinking or why he was doing certain things.  
"They will be alright, Elrond," he tried to reassure the younger elf. "They are old enough to take care of themselves, and they have always returned in the past, have they not?"  
  
"Aye," Elrond nodded, his eyes fixed on his twin sons, "They have. But only barely, _mellon nín_, and you know it as well as I do." He raised his eyes to meet his friend's, the grey orbs seemingly boring into the other's soul. "If nothing happens, the day will soon come when they will not return, and Arwen and I will have lost all three of them."   
  
He shortly closed his eyes, pain clear to see on his face.   
"The Dark Lord's creatures will have succeeded in taking all those I love. First my king, my friends, my wife and then my sons. I understand their anger and despair; they are still young and easily enraged, but it will kill them. No," he corrected himself, looking at the two young elves that had stopped to speak to a stable hand a few dozen yards away from them, "It is killing them already. For nearly a _yén _they have ridden out to hunt orcs, and it is killing their souls, bit by bit. They are not the cheerful elves they once were."  
  
Glorfindel tried to find something to reply, some argument that would invalidate what his lord had just said, but he could think of none. Elrond was right, he decided as he watched the younger elves come closer, their hate and despair were killing them, slowly and bit by bit. The twins' eyes were no longer bright and cheerful, and long had it been since he had heard them really laugh or witnessed them pulling one of their unmatchable pranks on some poor, unsuspecting elf. The joyful elflings he had taught and watched grow into joyful adults were gone, destroyed in the one moment their mother had been taken in the mountains, and in their stead there were emotionless warriors that were bent only on killing as many of their mother's tormentors as they possibly could.  
  
It wasn't that they were cold and removed from what was happening around them, he thought as he watched Elrohir smile about something his brother had just said, but the merriment never reached their eyes, and as soon as they sat still for longer than a few minutes a far-away expression stole over their faces, as if they were thinking of how many orcs they could have killed weren't they at home doing nothing.  
  
The golden haired elf bowed his head to hide the sorrow in his eyes. His lord was right; his two most annoying and at the same time brightest and most promising pupils were slowly succumbing to the hatred that destroyed their souls, and he was powerless to stop it. Powerless – that was a word that the elf lord did not like at all. He raised his head again, darkened blue eyes determined.  
"There must be something we can do!"  
  
"Nay, my friend," Elrond shook his head, "There is not, or I would have done it long ago, believe me. It is like a wound that is festering in their hearts, and not even I or their sister can help them overcome this. It is something they must do on their own, and no-one can aid them in it. They must let go of their despair if not of their hatred, and they must do it alone. I wish to help them of course, but…"  
  
"…they do not listen," Glorfindel nodded sadly. "I know, my lord. I know all too well."  
  
"You know what all too well?" Elrohir questioned as he stopped in front of them. "You are not keeping something from us, are you, dear friend?"  
  
Before Glorfindel had had the chance to answer, Elladan spoke up, a dark eyebrow arched in amusement.  
"Is it true?"  
  
"Is what true, Elladan?" Glorfindel asked with a hard look at the younger elf that had stopped even the balrog for a short time.  
  
The older twin's lips twisted into a smile that looked more genuine than anything Glorfindel had seen on his face in the past fifty years. He was apparently not very impressed by the older elf's glare.  
"That you and Erestor got so drunk that you sung a very annoying song all night and that you wrote … a particular word on his forehead?"  
  
The golden haired elf suppressed a wince and decided that there was no honourable way out of this situation.  
"It appears so."  
  
The smug grin that spread over their identical faces was something Glorfindel had never wanted to see directed at him. The twins would never let him forget this little incident, never, or only for the right price, such as help in one of their endeavours. He resisted the urge to hang his head. Elf lords did not hang their heads in public, especially not in front of their half-elven lords and said half-elven lords' half-elven offspring.  
  
Elrohir exchanged a wicked look with his brother, a look that reminded their father very much of his own twin brother all of the sudden. He and Elros had been able to do the same, to look at each other and convey more with a single glance than most people could with many words. It was something that twins could do, and elven twins especially, and it once again brought back painful memories of his beloved brother, dying in front of his eyes some hundred years after he had accepted the Gift of Men.  
  
Elrond looked at his sons that were undoubtedly just planning something he really didn't want to know about and narrowed his eyes. He had already lost so much, his parents, his brother, countless friends and his wife; he would _not _allow his sons to leave him as well.  
  
"How long are you staying?" he asked, resisting the urge to take them by the ears and lock them in their chambers like disobedient elflings. They were adults and making their own decisions, and if he insisted on treating them like children they were not, he would simply make everything even worse.  
  
"For a few months," Elladan shrugged nonchalantly. "We'll be back for Winter Solstice, but I think we'll return after that. Is Arwen coming home this year?"  
  
"No," Elrond shook his head, "A letter arrived yesterday from the Golden Wood. She bids me give you her love and asks us to understand that she would rather stay with the Lord and the Lady than travel at this time of year. The winter promises to become a vicious one and storms are already raging outside Lórien."  
  
The twins nodded seriously, a strange gleam once again kindled in their eyes.   
"We understand," Elrohir added softly, "It is better for her to stay with grandmother anyway; there is nothing for her here since…"  
  
He fell silent and looked at the ground, studying the mud on which he stood lightly with fascinated interest. No, indeed, what was there here in Rivendell since their mother had left? Nothing but sorrow and pain and anger; nothing a being like his sister needed. They hadn't been able to give her the comfort she was so desperate for, and it probably really was better that she spent most of her time in Lothlórien. Hot anger once again raced through him, and he felt a renewed urgency to be off. He couldn't stand the sight of his home any longer; it was reminding him of too many things he didn't wish to remember now. Elladan and he would ride out and kill those who had brought all this upon their family, and, perhaps, it would be enough this time.  
  
"Forgive me, _ada_," he said softy. "I should not have spoken of it."  
  
Elrond only shook his head sadly, inwardly praying to Elbereth and all the other Valar to let his sons understand and give them peace. He missed Celebrían as well, Ilúvatar, he missed her so much that it hurt him physically from time to time, but he wasn't as filled with anger and despair as the twins. They blamed themselves for what had happened, blamed themselves for letting their mother be taken and for not coming to her rescue sooner, and this guilt was the one thing that slowly but surely destroyed his sons from within.  
  
He took a step forward and took his younger son's chin, raising his head until their eyes met.  
"Do not be sorry, my son. You are right. Your sister is much happier in Lórien than she could be here." He looked at both of them, seriously. "You know what I think about this."  
  
Elladan nodded, not intimidated by his father's hard look.  
"Yes, father."  
  
Elrond shook his head in dismay, once again cursing the Valar for gifting him with sons that were every bit as stubborn as he had been when he had been younger. Glorfindel of course insisted that he hadn't changed in the slightest, but that was not true. Elros and he had been _much _worse when they had been elflings. He gave his sons a sad smile and stepped back again, inclining his head.  
  
"May the Valar protect you then. Give my regards to Aravorn and tell them that we are expecting his grandson when he feels he is ready."  
  
Elladan and Elrohir nodded. Aravorn was the current chieftain of the Dúnedain of the North, who had been fostered in Rivendell like all of Isildur's heirs before him. His son Arahad and his wife had been gifted with an heir not too long ago, and soon it would be time for the boy to spend some time in the elf-haven of Imladris like all of his line had.  
  
"We will," the younger twin assured his father. "Hopefully Arahad has got over the shock of being a father now; the last time we met he couldn't say anything but 'son', 'beautiful' and 'perfect'."  
  
"That is not true!" Elladan exclaimed, obviously intent to defend the chieftain's son. "He could also giggle uncontrollably for a very prolonged amount of time."  
  
"Oh," Elrohir shrugged with a slight grin. "That too, I forgot."  
  
Glorfindel grinned, glad that the mood had lightened somewhat.  
"That is nothing unusual, young ones. When a man becomes a father for the first time he is bound to react rather irrationally. The same goes for the firstborn, though, did I ever mention what your father did when you were born?"  
  
Elladan grinned at his brother, interest appearing in his eyes.  
"No?"  
  
"Well," the blonde elf began, "After he had annoyed your mother so much that she threw him out of her chambers, he…" He noticed the threatening look Elrond gave him and interrupted himself, swallowing quickly. He probably shouldn't stress his luck with the half-elf today. "I will escort you to the gates, my lords."  
  
He quickly walked a few paces into the direction of the main gates to give the three dark haired elves the chance to say good-bye in private. After a few moments the twins joined him, and they made their way over to the gates in silence. When they had reached the gateway, he turned back to the younger elves, looking at them seriously.  
  
"I do not expect you to listen to me," he shook his head sadly, "For if you do not even listen to your own father, then why would you listen to me?"  
  
Elladan shook his head unwillingly.  
"Please, my friend, not you too."  
  
The golden haired elf's head whipped around, blue eyes blazing in his fair face.  
"Yes, me too, Elladan! I do not have your father's patience, and I tell you now that what you do is foolish! Do you expect me to watch the two of you destroy yourselves and stay silent?"  
  
"No," Elrohir shook his head, always the more diplomatic one. "We do not. But we do not expect you to understand either."  
  
"I do!" Glorfindel exclaimed, resisting the urge to grab the twins' shoulders and shake some sense into them. "I do understand you! But it is still wrong! Would the Lady Celebrían have wanted you to succumb to hatred and darkness? I have known her longer than either of you, and I tell you that she would not!"  
  
At the mention of their mother's name both brothers winced slightly, but the stubborn expression in their eyes did not diminish. Glorfindel sighed inwardly. Accursed be the stubbornness of Eärendil's entire line!  
  
"Very well," he sighed as he shook his head. "If you truly believe that this course of action will help anyone, you are very welcome to get yourselves killed. But," he looked up at them, all the wisdom of the ages in his fathomless gaze, "But stop at least one second to consider what your deaths would do to your father, to all of us. Do you really believe that he could cope with yet another loss?"   
  
The twins avoided his gaze and he continued, his voice insistent and calm.  
  
"No, he could not." The golden haired elf shook his head again. "It would destroy the last bit of hope and will to live in his heart, and this time no-one would be able to hold him in this world. He would either follow you or journey to the Havens, and what then? What if he leaves Middle-earth before his time? I do not possess your father's fore-sight and I have thanked the Valar for that many times in the past, but even I know that the consequences might prove disastrous should he pass into the West now, while the Shadow is not yet mastered. And what about your sister, what about Arwen? What about your friends?"  
  
Glorfindel paused and waited until the younger elves looked up at him.  
"Think about that for a moment before you make rash decisions. Think about it before you rush into situations you cannot escape on your own; think about it before you let your hatred and despair define your actions. Do it for your father and all who love you."   
  
The twins did not answer, and he added, so softly that one could hardly understand him,  
  
"I love Elrond like a brother, and I love you like my sons. Seldom do I beg for something, but I will beg you for this if I have to."  
  
After a moment, Elladan nodded, eyes serious.  
"We will remember your words."  
  
Glorfindel very well knew that this was not exactly what he had been asking for, but knew just as well that it was the biggest admission either of them was willing to make. He watched how the twins mounted their horses, trying to suppress the distinct feeling that he would never see them again.  
  
"May Elbereth watch over your paths, young ones. Come back to us in the spring, and I hope to see yet another one of your distant cousins soon." He smiled slightly. "Arahad was bad enough already, I hardly dare to imagine what his son will be like."  
  
Elrohir returned his smile tentatively.  
"They get worse from generation to generation, I am sure about it. One is more reckless and stubborn than the last, and one would think that these qualities would diminish with time."  
  
The twins spurred on their horses, but Elrohir turned back after a few yards, reining in his steed. Grey eyes met blue ones, locked together for a long time.  
  
"We will not go looking for death, _mellon nín_," Elrohir said, a hopeless and at the same time determined expression on his face. "That I promise you. But this is the only way, and no-one can stop us from following this path. Not even _ada _or you." The younger elf inclined his head, breaking the eye contact. "Namárië."  
  
He turned his horse and followed his brother, leaving the golden haired elf behind. Glorfindel remained standing next to the great wooden gates, looking after the young elves he had helped raise, and a sudden wave of anger swept over him, anger at a world that had destroyed the lives of a whole family in a single moment.  
  
Glorfindel's keen eyes followed the two small figures as they sped away into the direction of the Bruinen until they disappeared from sight.  
"You may not go looking for death, young ones," he murmured as he turned back into the direction of the Last Homely House, "But death may very well go looking for you."  
  
The blonde elf shook his head sadly once again and slowly walked back the way he had come, deciding that, suddenly, the sun didn't seem to shine so brightly anymore.  
  
  
  
  
Elrohir's thoughts were in turmoil while he and his brother were making their way west, into the direction of the Trollshaws. They were due to meet with the _dúnedain _tomorrow at noon, at the Last Bridge that crossed the river Mitheithel, or the Hoarwell as the humans called the stream. The rangers had one of their temporary camps in the vicinity of the bridge, and would stay there for another four or five weeks until it became too cold and chilly and they retreated into the safety and comfort of their permanent settlements.  
  
They were making good time and would be able to camp just outside the Trollshaws when night would finally be upon them, but that pleasant fact did nothing to cheer him up.  
  
'Would the Lady Celebrían have wanted you to succumb to hatred and darkness?' … 'Do you really believe that he could cope with yet another loss?' … 'And what about your sister, what about Arwen?'…  
  
His old teacher's words seemed to ring in his head, resounding and growing louder by the minute. Indeed, what would his mother say if she could see him now? 'She wouldn't even recognise you,' a soft voice in his head stated, no matter how hard he tried to suppress it. 'You have changed, both of you, and she would weep for what you have become if she knew…'  
  
With an angry shake of his head the younger twin tried to silence that voice; what did it know? He could still remember the sight of his mother's broken body when they had finally found her or the sound of her cries that had echoed through the mountains when they had ridden to her aid. The screams haunted him more than anything else; hardly did a night pass in which he was not forced to relive that particular moment. He knew that Elladan was experiencing similar things, even though his older brother had never talked about it, and it only fortified their resolve to kill all those who had hurt her.  
  
Elrohir shook his head again. How could Glorfindel and especially their father expect them to stay at home when the creatures that had broken the Lady of Rivendell's body and poisoned her soul still roamed these lands, doing the same things they had done to her to other innocent people, humans, elves and hobbits alike?  
  
No, as long as a single orc still lived they could find no peace, and if he had to die avenging his mother, then so be it.  
  
But still, a part of him was not satisfied with that reasoning, using Glorfindel's and his father's words to mock him by repeating the same words over and over again. It was a part of him from before, from before their entire existence had narrowed down to the one purpose, the one goal that determined their every waking moment: To kill orcs, and to kill as many of them as possible, no matter the cost.  
  
He hardly heard his twin's serious voice, so focused was he on his musings.  
  
"We should stop for the night in an hour. The sun will set soon, and it is dangerous to travel in the dark so close to the Trollshaws."  
  
Elrohir nodded, mumbling an affirmative. Elladan looked at him, an eyebrow arched high.  
"The moon will turn purple as always."  
  
"Yes," his twin murmured softly, clearly not paying attention to what the other elf was saying. "You're right."  
  
"Since we haven't caught any dinner yet I thought I would skin you and roast you on a spit."  
  
"Oh, that is well."  
  
"And I think I will use your bow for firewood…"  
  
"That's a good ide… what??"  
  
Elladan's last statement was enough to bring the younger twin out of his thoughts, and he turned to look at his brother, slowing his horse's gait to a trot.  
"What did you say?"  
  
"Oh, nothing," Elladan grinned at his brother.  
  
"I seem to remember something else," Elrohir grumbled, but let it be. He knew that Elladan had been right to tease him; it was him who had been so deep in thought that an orc could have asked him for the time and he wouldn't have thought it one bit peculiar. An attitude that could get you killed very quickly if you weren't careful.  
  
"I've been telling you for years that there's something wrong with your ears, brother," the older twin retorted, enjoying the lightheartedness of the moment more than he cared to admit. Moment like these had been an every day occurrence some years ago, and they had often spent a good part of the day teasing each other and bickering among themselves, nearly driving their poor father to the brink of madness, but no more. Long gone were the times when all they could think of was how to annoy the other most effectively, and a part of Elladan feared that they would never return.  
  
"Nothing would be wrong with my ears if you didn't insist on talking the most ridiculous things," Elrohir said, a smile slowly beginning to lighten his stern countenance. "If you don't get that under control soon, the rangers will think you are possessed by one kind of Sauron's demons or another and will kill you where you stand."  
  
"That doesn't concern me in the slightest," Elladan shook his head. "I know that you would protect me. Besides, they're our kin, however distantly. They wouldn't harm their own kin, would they?"  
  
"If they have any sense left, they will."  
  
Elladan looked at his brother in mock horror.  
"Brother, I am hurt! How can you say such a thing?"  
  
"It is quite easy, brother. I open my mouth, and behold, the words can be heard…"  
  
Elrohir interrupted himself in mid-sentence, his eyes fixed on the ground. Elven eyes pierced the falling darkness effortlessly, and soon Elladan also saw what had caused his younger brother to rein in his horse: A broad track that ran from left to right, straight over the road the two of them were following. It was clear that many feet had trampled it, and even if the shape of the footsteps were not enough proof already, the lingering sense of evil was almost tangible for any creature that came this way.  
  
"_Yrch_," the oldest son of Elrond hissed, one hand unconsciously straying to the hilt of his sword.  
  
Elrohir merely jumped from the back of his horse and knelt down next to the aisle of destruction that cut across their path. The fury in his heart went up another few notches when he saw the destroyed plants and trees next to the tracks; the orcs had apparently cut down young trees and even a few older ones just for spite.  
  
"They came through here only half an hour ago, I think. The sun is already low in the sky, and they will be planning to raid a few farms to the North and will have left their hiding places early."  
  
Elladan nodded, trusting his brother's words inexplicably. Both of them had learned much since they had started to hunt orcs with the rangers, and if Elrohir said they had come here thirty minutes ago, it was true.  
"How many?"  
  
Elrohir wrinkled his brow, frowning slightly. He ran his hands over the churned up earth as if it might help him determine how many enemies they faced.  
"About twenty, I think. It is hard to tell on the stones here, but there may also be a few wargs with them."  
  
"As always," his twin nodded grimly. "Come on, then."  
  
"You mean to follow them?" Elrohir asked, quickly walking back to his horse.  
  
Elladan looked at him with a raised eyebrow, looking very much like their father for a moment, if one didn't look too closely at his eyes. While they were of nearly the same colour as the Lord of Rivendell's, his held a decidedly bloodthirsty gleam that none had seen in the older elf's eyes since the last great war.  
"You mean not to follow them?"  
  
Elrohir looked back at him, in his heart already determined what to do, but the small, persistent part of him that had been nagging him since the conversation with Glorfindel caused him to argue anyway.  
"We are due to meet with the rangers tomorrow. If we are delayed they will come looking for us, and you know how well father would like _that_."  
  
"Elrohir," his brother began with an impatient jerk of his head, "That is the reason why we have to follow them. There are no rangers here at the moment, and if we don't stop them, no-one will. There are two human villages not far from here, and they will pillage and burn and kill, just as they always do, and no-one will stand in their way." He looked at his twin seriously. "We can save these humans, _gwanur nín_."  
  
His younger brother averted his eyes to hide the pain and despair that welled up inside of him at the other's words. Elladan didn't need to say what both of them were thinking: They had not been able to save their mother, but they could save others from suffering the same fate as she.  
  
Elrohir looked up again, his eyes hard and steely grey as he suppressed the voice inside of him that begged him to reconsider, to take the way of caution and come back with a group of rangers to deal with this orc horde.  
"You are right, we can."  
  
He quickly mounted his horse and flashed his brother a grin.  
"Lead the way, my brother."  
  
Elladan returned the grin, and together they spurred on their horses and quickly disappeared eastwards into the direction the orc tracks led them, stealthy and grey against the falling darkness like two dark shadows bent on vengeance, an impression that was accurate in more aspects than one.  
  
  
  
  
  
**TBC...**  
  
  
  
  
  
_mellon nín - my friend_  
_yén - elvish unit of time, equivalent to 144 years_  
_ada - father, daddy  
dúnedain - 'Men of the West', rangers  
yrch (pl. of orch) - orcs, goblins_  
_gwanur nín - my (twin) brother_  
  
  
  
  
**To borrow one of Gandalf's wonderful idioms: The board is set, the pieces are moving. *giggles* Oh, I've always wanted to use that quote. Well, it's fitting, isn't it? Since this is only a short story, the next chapter already sees our intrepid duo getting into deep, deep trouble, Glorfindel and Elrond have a little discussion and ... I already mentioned the trouble, didn't I? *g* Okay, I'll update this more frequently than my other story since this one is already finished, so I guess the next chapter will be here either Wednesday or Thursday. Reviews always help to get updates faster. Really. *g***  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. At the Edge

**Disclaimer:** For full disclaimer, please see chapter 1.  
  
  
**A/N:  
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Well, it appears FF.net doesn't like my A/N. I had to remove them, sorry, but now the chapter looks much nicer. *shakes head* I really don't get FF.net sometimes. Anything else works, but as soon as I upload my previous A/N, it all goes bonkers. *shrugs* Sorry about that.**  
**So, no A/N this time, don't blame me, blame FF.net.  
  
  
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Chapter 2  
  
  
Three hours later, darkness had fallen, and the moon and the bright stars in the heavens cast a weak, somewhat sickly light onto the wooded lands. Dark clouds quickly neared the pale sickle of the moon, and soon even that light was extinguished when they shifted in front of it. The sparse light reflected off the stones of a cliff a little to the East of the small clearing the moon was overlooking, making them gleam white and grey and a dozen shades in between.  
  
A dark haired elf tore his gaze away from the sky and scowled at his companions, another elf that looked almost exactly like him.  
"Twenty, aye."  
  
Elrohir gave him a slightly sheepish look and shrugged.  
"But they _were _only half an hour ahead of us."  
  
Elladan ignored his twin's words and gripped the trunk of the tree they had climbed a little more tightly.   
"'About twenty' you said, 'there may be some wargs' you said…"  
  
His younger brother rolled his eyes and looked down from their airy perch onto the small glade that lay beneath their tree. A squabbling, screaming mass of orcs was all he could see, and he had to admit that yes, there were definitely more than twenty. Not to mention the eight wargs that prowled around the throng of bodies.  
"Stop whining, brother. All we have to do is wait; they are killing each other quickly enough already."  
  
That was something Elladan had to agree with, no matter how reluctantly. They had been following the orc horde for some time when the sounds of a commotion in front of them prompted them to abandon their horses and continue on foot. While they had been moving stealthily through the treetops the sounds had grown louder and fiercer, and when they had reached this one tree they were occupying right now, they had found out why: The orcs were fighting each other and were doing a fine job diminishing their numbers for them.  
  
It had taken them some time to find out what the argument was about, and it had not been easy to discern since orcs never needed much of a reason to start fighting, even among themselves. They often killed each other for the most ridiculous and stupidest reasons, but then again, orcs weren't known to be very clever either.  
  
This fight seemed to have erupted when a few orcs had come across a small herd of deer, and had apparently killed three or four of them with their crude bows. How the orcs had managed to surprise the usually so vigilant animals was beyond both elves, and that they had hit the beasts was no smaller a miracle. Orc archers were usually not a big threat since they were lousy shots most of the time, and they rarely managed to hit anything that moved quickly and was not busy fighting off other members of the horde.  
  
This time, however, they had somehow managed to shoot some of the animals, and while they seemed to have done it only for spite and because of their joy of killing, it soon became apparent that a part of them was unwilling to let such a wonderful opportunity for a meal pass them by. Some orcs had immediately begun to tear chunks of meat from the carcasses, eating them raw, but the captain of this group was anything but happy about their actions. It appeared that he wanted to have some fun tonight and wished to reach the human settlements before sunrise would force them back into their caves and holes, and soon a full-fledged fight was going on, with orcs dropping left and right.  
  
From the original thirty orcs there were only about twenty left, and the fight showed no sign of abating. The orc captain had soon abandoned all attempts at calming his men down and had joined the fray, either because he had seen that the others wouldn't listen to him anyway, now that their blood lust was kindled – a feat that demanded some measure of intelligence and that was therefore highly doubted by both twins – or because he hadn't seen why his subordinates should have all the fun without him.  
  
Either way, the orcs were rather busy killing each other for them, Elladan shrugged inwardly, so he wasn't complaining. He turned back to his brother, keeping his voice low so the orcs wouldn't hear them, even though it was probably not necessary for he very much doubted that they would have heard even a herd of oliphaunts running at top speed through the forest right now.  
  
"I do not whine."  
  
Elrohir rolled his eyes again, only to turn them back onto the scene beneath them. He was not taking any chances; he wouldn't let those who survived this little argument escape.  
"Of course you do. That tone of voice clearly qualifies as whining."  
  
"It does not."  
  
"Yes, it does."  
  
"No, it does not."  
  
"Yes, it does…" Elrohir narrowed his eyes as the mob beneath them drew apart, the sharp voice of the orc captain yelling orders in the Black Speech of Mordor making both elves cringe. The sound rekindled the spark of burning fury in the younger twin's heart; to him it seemed only yesterday that he had heard shouts and dark laughter in that tongue that had almost been drowned out by his mother's anguished screams of pain…  
  
"Elrohir? Brother?"   
  
A slender hand grabbed his forearm, and the young elf blinked quickly, noticing for the first time that he had leaned forward and would have fallen from the branch both of them were sitting on had Elladan not held him back. He consciously unclenched his hands that had wrapped themselves around the smooth bark of the tree and his bow and looked at his brother, shaking his head to regain some semblance of control. Every time he saw one of these creatures a red haze seemed to lay itself over his vision, transporting him back to that orc cave where they had found their mother nearly a _yén _ago.  
  
"I am fine," he assured the other elf softly, not trusting himself to speak calmly should he raise his voice even a little. His eyes grew hard and dark when he looked down onto the glade where the orcs were preparing to leave now. The captain had apparently regained control of his men who numbered only eighteen now, and the creatures were piling the ones who had perished in the fight up on one side of the clearing, not because they wanted to burn them or anything of that sort but because they were searching every body for something that may yet be of use for them.  
  
"I am fine," Elrohir repeated, hatred blazing brightly in his usually calm grey eyes. "Let's kill them all."  
  
Elladan smiled grimly, surveying the scene in front of them.  
"A noble intention, brother, but I think we need a plan."  
  
The other elf blinked again, looking slightly startled, before he nodded his head.  
"That does sound like a sensible idea, _gwanur nín_. Do you have a suggestion?"  
  
"I do," Elladan nodded, beginning to speak quickly when he saw that the orcs were almost ready to move out. "I distract them and you take out as many of their archers as you can before the wargs eat us both. We meet in the middle."  
  
"Oh?" Elrohir raised a mocking eyebrow. "So you distract nineteen orcs while I try to kill as many of the seven archers that are still left as possible before both of us are torn to pieces by their little friends? Is that your master plan?"  
  
His brother wrinkled his brow as if in deep thought.  
"Essentially … yes."  
  
"Ah," Elrohir nodded seriously before he began to grin darkly, "I like your style."  
  
"You would," Elladan mumbled under his breath as they quickly began to descend the tree, cocking his head slightly to the side when he heard a faint rumbling in the distance. Well, if they were lucky they would be finished and on their way to the Last Bridge when the storm reached them. But then again, he grimaced slightly, they were _never _lucky.  
  
They stopped on a branch about ten feet above the ground, watching the orc horde closely. Elrohir reached for an arrow and fitted it to his bow so he would be ready to take out the orcs' archers as soon as his brother started "distracting" them, whatever that might prove to mean exactly. He looked up into Elladan's serious face when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and smiled slightly when he saw the emotions on his brother's face. Nodding at what he saw on the other's face, he smiled slightly and gave Elladan a gentle push into the other direction.  
  
"Go, brother. I would like to get this over with before they decide to leave."  
  
Elladan nodded as well and smiled back, moving to the side of the branch and eyeing the tree next to him. He needed to move a little bit away from his brother before he made himself known to the creatures on the ground, or their entire plan would fail from the very beginning. Deciding on a sturdy branch about eight feet to the left of him, he quickly turned back to Elrohir, smiling at him.  
  
"And it did not."  
  
"Pardon me?" the other elf asked, clearly confused.  
  
"My tone of voice did not qualify as whining."  
  
With that he turned and jumped, landing soundlessly in the other tree and disappearing so quickly from sight that not even Elrohir could follow his movements for long.   
The younger twin shook his head and returned his gaze to the orcs, knowing that Elladan would still be able to hear him, no matter how softly he spoke.  
  
"Yes it did, brother, and you know it."  
  
  
  
  
Glorfindel sat on the windowsill of his bed-chamber, watching the grey storm clouds that had gathered in the far distance. It was already quite late at night, and usually he would already be sleeping, for the coming day would be filled with paperwork since his lord had announced – in his opinion much too happily – that they would spend the day taking stock of Rivendell's supplies so they could replenish what they needed before the cold season began in earnest. It was already early November, and in the winter it would be a lot harder to get what they needed than now.  
  
It was a reasonable idea – which, however, did not make it any more appealing to the golden haired elf – and Glorfindel also knew that Elrond was burying himself in his work to distract himself from the fact that his sons were out there, hunting orcs with Aravorn and his men. It was the Lord of Rivendell's instinctive reaction if faced with a problem, and Glorfindel respected that, but a small part of him still wished that Elrond could find other means of distracting himself, means that did not involve him, Glorfindel, or paperwork.  
  
But despite all this he was still awake, and it was not only to watch the storm. He did like watching storms, he didn't really know himself why, but he didn't like it enough to chance provoking his lord's wrath because he was too tired to be of assistance tomorrow. No, he was still here, watching the thunderstorm – without a bottle of Dorwinion this time, however – because he was busy doing two things.  
  
Firstly, he was trying not to think about the twins himself or the fact that he would most likely soon have to drag them back to Imladris, and secondly was he busy coming up with a way of exacting bloody revenge on Erestor for yesterday night. The dark haired elf had to pay, for no-one humiliated him, Lord Glorfindel of Gondolin, in front of his lord and the rest of Rivendell's population. Not to mention his lord's twin sons, with which he was back at the topic that worried him the most.  
  
Glorfindel sighed. The twins. He very much doubted that he would ever see someone as stubborn as those two young ones. They were clearly their father's sons, and Celebrían hadn't exactly been what one would call "weak-willed" either. The golden haired elf smiled, lost in memory. No, the silver haired elf maiden had been anything but, as had been to be expected of a daughter of the Lady Galadriel and the Lord Celeborn.   
  
Glorfindel was sure that Celebrían's stubbornness had been the main thing that had caused Elrond to fall in love with her; the half-elf had finally found someone who was as headstrong as he. Galadriel's daughter was more subtle about it, and rather resorted to convincing people with that radiant smile of hers that was able to light up an entire room, but in truth she was just as bad as her husband, and ever since Elrond had sometime in the Second Age started talking about her with that particular dreamy expression on his face that could only be found on a fool's or a male's who had just met the embodiment of all his dreams, Glorfindel had known that he would be doomed should the two of them ever have children.   
  
And he had been right, the golden haired elf nodded, the twins and Arwen were indeed among the most stubborn beings he had ever met. But this trait would prove to be their undoing yet, he admitted to himself, and there was nothing Elrond or he could do. His lord had been right; Elladan and Elrohir were old enough to decide their own fate, and they had to understand for themselves that their wild hatred would only get them killed. He didn't expect them to forget what had happened to their mother, of course not, but they had to stop seeking to destroy orcs wherever they could find them, regardless of their own safety.  
  
The blonde elf sighed again, his eyes not really seeing the lightning that was beginning to light up the sky now. He didn't like being forced to do nothing, and he honestly couldn't see how Elrond could stand it. Well, he decided a little bit wryly, Imladris' Lord might be younger than he, but he was definitely more patient.   
  
Tearing his thoughts away from this particularly displeasing subject, he once again began to think about what he could do to Erestor. Most of the ideas he had had were definitely unbecoming an elf lord, but for everything there were exceptions, and this was one of them. Erestor would find out why it wasn't a good idea to alienate him, he would make sure of that…  
  
After some more minutes, Glorfindel stood to his feet, having come to the decision that he would need to give the matter considerable thought. Deciding that sleep would elude him this night whatever he did, he quickly walked over to his large bed and took up a shirt. He didn't really expect to see many elves at this time of night, but it would be highly inappropriate to appear in the corridors of the Last Homely House clad only in his breeches. A small, wicked smile spread on his face as he imagined a scenario involving a scantily clothed Erestor, Rivendell's population and general public humiliation. Oh yes, revenge was sweet indeed, and Erestor would find out about it first-hand, Eru help him!  
  
He bound back his long hair with a leather strip, softly threatening the gleaming strands to shear them off if they didn't co-operate a little bit more in the near future, opened his door and turned into the direction of the Hall of Fire. Since the Lady's departure most elves were not feeling very cheerful anymore, and mostly because neither the Lord nor his sons were to be found in the large hall on the evenings the celebrations that had been held there were now few and not as joyous as they had once been. Elves mourned long and hard, and Celebrían's absence was still felt keenly by all of Rivendell's population.  
  
Glorfindel entered the hall, finding it empty as he had expected. He didn't wish for company, and to sit in front of the fire and let its dancing flames soothe his troubled mind and help him come up with a way to avenge himself on Erestor was exactly what he needed right now. As he was about to settle down in a large, stuffed armchair in one of the corners, however, he noticed that he had been wrong: He was not alone.  
  
Hidden in the shadows a little to his left he could see the still, motionless figure of his lord who seemed to be very busy staring into the flickering flames of the fire. All in all, it was a respectable occupation, especially since he himself had come here to do the same, but in his opinion Elrond's face was a little too dark and too sombre, even if one considered the shadows that were dancing across his face.  
  
He took a few steps closer to the dark haired elf and, when Elrond failed to acknowledge him, laid a hand on his shoulder.  
"My lord?"  
  
To his credit, Elrond did not jump when he heard his advisor's soft voice, but it was obviously a near thing. His head whipped to the right, but his body relaxed after a few moments when he saw who it was that had interrupted his reverie. Glorfindel frowned slightly and narrowed his blue eyes. If his friend really hadn't heard his approach, he had been deep in thought indeed.  
  
The Lord of Rivendell smiled at the other elf, a smile that looked more than a little bit strained and did not reach his eyes.  
"Glorfindel. Sleep is eluding you as well, I see?"  
  
The golden haired elf returned the smile and sat down next to the other elf onto the wooden bench he was occupying, not waiting to be invited to do so. Elrond needed someone to talk to, even if that stubborn half-elf didn't realise it himself.  
  
"My being is overcome with terror at the prospect of the coming day, _mellon nín_," he told him in a confidential tone of voice. "I would rather face another of Morgoth's balrogs than taking stock of our supplies."  
  
That statement brought a real smile to the dark haired elf's lips, and Glorfindel thought that, for this alone, a sleepless night had been well worth it.  
"So we have found a challenge that raises fear in the mighty balrog slayer!"  
  
"Nay, my lord," Glorfindel shook his head. "No fear. Only terror."  
  
Elrond shook his head and leaned back against the wall, eyes once again straying to the dancing flames of the fire. Glorfindel watched him for a while with his head cocked to the side, and finally came to the conclusion that the dark haired elf wouldn't tell him anything on his own.   
"And why are you here?"  
  
The other elf didn't answer, although Glorfindel was sure that he had heard him, and merely continued staring straight ahead. After a moment he opened his mouth to speak, eyes dark and overcome with memories.  
"It is dark."  
  
Glorfindel blinked, the question of whether Elrond had lost his mind briefly flickering through his mind, but when he looked closer, he could see in the other's eyes that his friend was not only talking about the room they were in at the moment.  
"It is dark, yes," he agreed quietly.  
  
Elrond ignored him and continued, so softly that Glorfindel would nearly have missed his words.  
"All is dark since she left, Glorfindel, it is as if the sun has sunken never to return. Without her presence night has fallen and these halls are empty and dark, and no light shines through this darkness that has laid itself over our home without her laughter."  
  
The blonde elf shook his head sadly, not able to imagine the sorrow his friend had to feel.  
"You will see her again, _mellon nín_. She is waiting for you on the shores of Aman, and one day you and I will set sail to the West where she is awaiting your arrival."  
  
"Aye," Elrond nodded bitterly, "One day. But not one day soon." He raised a hand to interrupt his friend who had just opened his mouth to say something. "No, my friend, I have seen it. It will be a long time before I will journey to the Havens, and I can only hope that I will leave behind a world that is free and safe, ruled by my brother's heirs; not a world that is covered in darkness and shadow and under the dominion of the Dark One, and yet there does my foresight fail me. I do not know which side will prevail, and that makes it even harder, in a way."  
  
Glorfindel didn't like his friend's dark tone one bit, and he reached out and grasped his forearm, causing the dark haired elf to look at him in mild surprise.  
"Never forget the one thing that matters, my friend. You _will _see her again, no matter how long it will take. She is happy where she is now and will be waiting for you until the ends of time if she has to; you know how stubborn your Celebrían is." Elrond smiled at that, inclining his head slightly, and Glorfindel continued, a small smile playing about his lips as well. "When our time here comes to an end, you, your children and I will pass into the West, and all of you will be reunited. All will be well."  
  
"She is stubborn, that is correct," the dark haired elf agreed after a small pause, a smile on his lips as he remembered an event from the past. "Alas, so are her sons."  
  
"Now, my friend," Glorfindel smiled, "Do not try to shift the blame on your poor wife. How else could they have turned out to be with you as their father?"  
  
Elrond gave his advisor a smug look, looking remarkably like one of his sons for a moment.  
"Other than handsome, intelligent, brave, wise, graceful, patient and kind?"  
  
The golden haired rolled his eyes.  
"Those weren't exactly the words I was looking for."  
  
"I cannot imagine why not," the Lord of Imladris retorted, but a moment later the lightheartedness disappeared from his face. "Do you remember what I told you earlier today?"  
  
A strange feeling appeared in Glorfindel's heart and he narrowed his eyes, looking at the other elf intently.  
"Which part of our conversation are you referring to?"  
  
"The part where I told you that, one day, they would not be coming back."  
  
The blonde elf's eyes widened, and he felt his heart freeze in his chest. Elbereth, Elrond couldn't mean that… He swallowed hard and took a deep breath, trying to calm his wildly beating heart.  
"Have you … foreseen something?"  
  
He almost closed his eyes as he was waiting for an answer. Elrond's gift – or curse – of foresight was formidable, and if he had seen his sons' death, it would most likely come to pass, just like so many things before…  
  
"No."  
  
The softly spoken word let the blonde elf almost sink backwards against the wall in relief, and he had to resist the temptation of wiping his brow to get rid of the very un-elf-lordly sweat that had accumulated there. The Valar be praised…  
  
"But," Elrond continued, "There is something out there, a shadow, a threat, whatever you want to call it. It has been growing in my mind ever since they left, and I fear that they have once again found the trouble they crave. Yet this time, I feel that it may be more than they can handle."  
  
Glorfindel nodded, his thoughts already several miles away. He rose and nodded again, about to turn to the hall's exit.   
"I will assemble a guard contingent; even at this time of night there should be more than enough volunteers. We can be gone in half an hour if we hurry, and…"  
  
Elrond smiled slightly and shook his head, looking at the tall blonde elf that stood in front of him. Glorfindel was indeed his best and most loyal friend, and none did he trust more or more unconditionally since he had lost Elros and Gil-galad. And yet, even despite the millennia the golden haired elf had already walked on this world or spent in the Halls of Mandos, he was still rather impulsive – which he would deny if faced with that accusation, for elf lords were of course not impulsive – and did what his heart told him.  
  
"No, _mellon nín_," he shook his head and looked at the other elf earnestly, "None of my guards will leave this night, and you least of all." When Glorfindel merely looked at him with a frown on his face, he added, "The storm is growing stronger in the West; it is not safe outside of our borders now."  
  
"But…" Glorfindel began, only to be interrupted again by his lord.  
  
"No, Glorfindel. I will not risk the lives of several others for two elves, even if they are my sons, and that because of a vague foreboding that could mean nothing."  
  
The blonde elf studied his lord's eyes and quickly saw that nothing save a direct order by one of the Valar would be able to change Elrond's mind now. With a sigh he admitted defeat and sat down again.  
"Is it, Elrond? Is it a vague foreboding and nothing more?"  
  
Elrond's face darkened, and he looked to the floor, shadows dancing across his features.  
  
"No," he admitted softly, "It is not. It is as strong and urgent as few others I have received in the past, but that changes nothing. The risk is still too great, and all we can do is pray to the Valar that both of them are clever enough not to go looking for trouble." He saw the slightly rebellious look on his advisor's face and added, looking up at him again, "If I still feel the same tomorrow morning you may leave at sunrise. Will that satisfy you?"  
  
"No," Glorfindel shook his head, a resigned smile on his face, "But it will have to do, my lord." He looked into the grey eyes of his friend that were almost black with worry and suppressed fear now, and told him, partly to reassure himself, "They will be fine. We will probably find them in the rangers' camp, unscathed and mocking poor Arahad about his infatuation with his young son."  
  
"Yes," Elrond agreed, giving him a forced smile, "You are probably right, my friend."  
  
The two elf lords looked at each other, both fervently trying to believe what they had just said, but both knowing deep in their hearts that it was not so. Elrond broke the almost uncomfortable silence first and leaned back against the smooth stones of the wall.  
  
"Tell me then," he began, raising a dark eyebrow, "What it is you are planning for my dear chief counsellor?"  
  
Glorfindel looked back at him, displaying an expression of aggrieved innocence. If Elrond wanted to change the subject, he was more than willing to oblige. It would help no-one if they drove each other mad with worry about these irresponsible, insolent little elflings.  
"Planned? I? For Erestor?"  
  
Elrond began to smile, a smile that lit up his whole face.  
"Please, my friend, this look does not suit you. I _know _that you are planning something."  
  
"Another vision of the future?" Glorfindel teased gently.  
  
"You could say that," Elrond nodded. "Tell me then, or I will have to order you to."  
  
"You would do that?" Glorfindel exclaimed in mock horror. "What a terribly disgraceful thing to do, to exploit your status to obtain information!"  
  
"It is you who keeps insisting that elf lords do not appear clueless in public," Elrond reproached, his smile widening. "Besides, planning to do something to a fellow lord I am not yet sure I really want to know is nothing I would call befitting an elf lord!"  
  
His blonde advisor closed his mouth he had opened for a scathing reply. Well, the dark haired elf was right about that…  
"Very well," he relented. "To my shame I have to admit that I haven't planned anything yet."  
  
"No?" Elrond arched an eyebrow incredulously.  
  
"No," Glorfindel replied almost testily, "I have not. I do not plan such things very often."  
  
The smile on Elrond's face grew to improbable dimensions, and he leaned forward, grey eyes twinkling now.  
"Ah, I believe I can be of assistance here."  
  
Now it was Glorfindel's turn to arch an eyebrow.  
"You, my lord?"  
  
Elrond even looked somewhat hurt and offended.  
"Of course. I had a twin brother for nearly five hundred years after all; I know everything about revenge, believe me."  
  
"Then, my lord," the other elf inclined his head, "I will gladly accept your generous offer. May we think of something that will teach that scoundrel to prey on unsuspecting elves who only want to enjoy their evening in peace and tranquillity!"  
  
"If I remember correctly, my dear advisor," Elrond interjected dryly, "It was _you _who wrote that particular word on _his _forehead."  
  
"A mere detail," Glorfindel brushed the younger elf's objection aside. There it was again, _the word_. He really needed to find out what it had been; every elf he had questioned had feigned ignorance and had disappeared as quickly as possible, wearing a smug grin one might add. "The entire thing was his fault and he must pay."  
  
"Very well, _mellon nín_," Elrond conceded, "You have no ideas then?"  
  
"The terms 'disgrace', 'public humiliation' and 'pain' come to mind now that you mention it," Glorfindel said slowly, the wicked grin spreading once again on his face as he remembered the small vision he had had earlier, and his lord listened to his ideas, clearly amused by most of them.  
  
The thought of the twins never left his or Elrond's mind, but the enjoyable conversation helped to push it back for a little while and make the long wait that lay ahead until a search party could leave the Last Homely Home a bit more bearable.  
  
Together the two elf lords spent the rest of the evening in the Hall of Fire, blonde and dark head huddled together as they planned something that could only be described as unbefitting two elf lords of their status, but right then, neither of them cared.  
  
There were exceptions to every rule, after all.  
  
  
  
  
A few dozen leagues to the west, Elrohir was just ducking under a blow that had been aimed at his head, coming back up in time to see the stupid expression on the orc's face when it stared at its scimitar and tried to come up with a reason why it hadn't hit its intended target.  
  
The elven twin took another step to the side and brought his own blade down, cleanly cleaving the creature's head from its shoulders. The orc's body remained upright for a few seconds, frozen in place, before it tumbled to the earth, its black blood colouring the grass a sickening brown.  
  
Elrohir wasn't there to observe this, however, since he had spun on his heel and moved to the left to escape the crude spear another orc had thrust at him. While he was trying to avoid getting skewered by this new foe, Elrohir tried to find out when and at which point their plan had gone so terribly wrong.  
  
'That would be the beginning,' a voice in his head supplied as the younger twin danced to the side, avoiding the weapon that had nearly been thrust into his stomach a second ago. Indeed, it had gone wrong from the very beginning…  
  
He didn't blame his brother's plan, because, considering the circumstances, it had been a rather good one. Not by any means perfect, no, but it had been sensible enough in his opinion. What had spoiled the whole thing, however, had been the storm, or more precisely, thunder and lightning. Loud thunder had clapped and lightning had lit up the sky in the exact moment that Elladan had leapt down from his tree to "distract" the horde, causing the orcs to look up in sudden fright. That by itself would not have been too alarming, for they would have noticed the elf anyway a moment or two later, but they also had seen him, Elrohir, where he had been edging forward to have more space to fire his arrows.  
  
Half the horde had still been distracted by Elladan who had drawn as many of the orcs as possible away from the centre of the glade, and Elrohir had therefore had enough time to loosen four arrows which all found their targets in the necks of four orc archers, but the remaining three had recovered quickly enough from their shock of seeing an elf sitting in a tree above their heads to shower the spot where he had sat with arrows.  
  
The only option the younger elven twin had had left had been to drop down from the tree and join his brother on the ground, relying on his sword and long knife to discourage any orc that might feel the urge to come too close to him.  
  
What really bothered him though, Elrohir decided as he narrowly escaped the spear again, were the wargs. He had always hated these creatures with a passion, and now was not the time he felt inclined to let go of that feeling. Orcs were for the most part clumsy and slow adversaries who could be avoided with the greatest of ease unless there were so many that they closed off your every escape, but wargs were an entirely different story.  
  
They were much bigger and intelligent than their wild cousins, the wolves, and a lot stronger as well. They had learned to work together to bring down their prey, and that was exactly what was causing problems for him and his twin.   
  
Elrohir finally managed to dispatch the orc that had been doing its best in the past few minutes to impale him on its spear, and jumped up into the air just in time to avoid the teeth of a warg that had sneaked up on them and had been about to sink its fangs into the flesh of his leg.  
  
The dark haired elf landed soundlessly a foot away from the beast, turned and thrust his dagger deeply into the animal's throat before it could react. The warg collapsed, twitching spasmodically, giving Elrohir enough time to regain his bearings.  
  
Running up to him were two orcs, their hideous faces contorted into angry masks and their weapons raised high up into the air. One of them brandished a scimitar of the sort that the orcs forged themselves, crude and evil-looking like everything their race made, while the other held a broadsword which the creature had probably stolen from a human that had fallen victim to them.   
  
That was another thing that was to be heeded when one was fighting orcs, he thought idly, turning slightly to the left to look for his brother, orcs were never armed uniformly, for they used all kinds of weapons which they pilfered and stole from the bodies of those unfortunate enough to cross their way. For inexperienced warriors it was rather hard to adapt to having to fight the most different types of weapons at the same time, something that could only be remedied by much training and exercise.  
  
Wrenching his thoughts away from that, Elrohir noticed that the two orcs were only a few yards away now and quickly looked around for his brother. After a fraction of a second he found him, busy fending off several orcs and wargs. Elladan was only a blur of long hair and gleaming blades, his face hard and emotionless and his eyes shining brightly with something that could only be described as blood lust.  
  
There were about eight orcs left, including two archers, and four wargs, if he had counted correctly. And two of these orcs, he added somewhat wryly, were just rushing up to him, murderous intent shining brightly in their yellowish eyes. Elrohir side-stepped at the last possible moment and let the orcs rush past him, using the opportunity to lash out at one of them. A dark smile curved his lips when he heard the creature's unearthly howl of pain, but the orc didn't fall to the ground and seemed to regain its wits in time to wheel around with its companion.  
  
Elrohir frowned and narrowed his eyes when he realised that his blow hadn't killed the orc. Glorfindel would have his head if he heard about it, he decided sheepishly, the ancient elf had always told him to take more time before striking out at an adversary. And Elladan would probably dissolve into giggles after scowling at him and lecturing him about his carelessness, provided that both of them survived this little skirmish, of course…  
  
Elrond's younger son shifted his stance slightly, sighing loudly when he saw that two wargs were giving up their circling of the group which his brother was fighting right now and were coming his way, quickly. He really, really, disliked wargs. But then again, the more the foul creatures concentrated on him, the less trouble would his twin have, so it was well worth it.  
  
Elrohir took a step forwards when the two orcs rushed up to him and blocked one of them with his sword and the other with his knife, cursing inwardly when he realised that the wargs were almost upon them. He was forced to give way and to move to the East of the clearing, still busy fending off the orcs and now the two wargs that had decided to join the fray.  
  
While he was slowly being pushed away from the clearing and forced to move backwards through the thick undergrowth, Elrohir gave an annoyed growl, lifting his eyes to the cloudy heaven where lightning could be seen in increasingly short intervals.   
  
Elbereth Gilthoniel, what else could possibly go wrong?  
  
As if to answer the young elf's question, the heavens promptly opened and heavy rain began to fall, so heavy that it immediately lowered the visibility to a few feet. Elrohir's eyes grew wide, and he fought the almost irresistible urge to throw his hands up in despair.  
  
What a terribly stupid question that had been.  
  
  
At the same time, Elladan was thoroughly annoyed.  
  
Annoyed with the orcs that were trying to cut him into little pieces, annoyed with the orc that had managed to slice his left arm open, annoyed with the wargs that seemed more than willing to eat said little pieces, annoyed with the rain, annoyed with the fact that he could no longer see his twin even though he could still hear him fighting a bit away from the clearing, and, most of all, annoyed with himself.  
  
Here one could see again why Elrohir was the one whose plans were successful, because he was more patient and took more time to judge a situation. His wonderful master plan had gone wrong from the very beginning, and Elladan would have hit himself hadn't he been so busy trying to keep his adversaries away from him.  
  
Elladan moved quickly to the right and thrust his sword into the other direction at the same time, managing to hit the spot beneath the orc's arm where its armour was weak and driving his blade right into its heart, if creatures such as these even had things like hearts. The goblin dropped to the ground, dead before its body touched the earth the rain was quickly turning into mud, therefore bringing the number of his attackers down to three, not counting the one warg that was still trying to snap at his legs, obviously having decided that the elf looked far tastier than the multitude of orc bodies that littered the ground.  
  
Actually, he was doing quite well if one ignored that little cut on his arm, Elladan decided with a small, reckless smile, lifting his sword a little as the remaining orcs looked at each other, obviously trying to figure out what to do. The fact that the orc he had just killed had been the captain properly didn't help them to make a decision either, and the elf was suddenly very glad that he had killed it.   
  
The orcs' leader had been a strong, dark skinned and determined adversary, and in his opinion more dangerous than the whole lot of his subordinates. He heard a piercing wail somewhere to his left, and smiled darkly when he realised that Elrohir must just have killed another warg. That left only the one that was looking as if it seriously contemplated flight now if he had counted correctly, plus his own three enemies and the two orcs Elrohir was still facing. All in all, it was looking rather good, considering that they had started with about thirty orcs and eight wargs…  
  
Elladan moved into an attack position, appearing next to one of the remaining orcs before the creature had time to even blink or turn its head fully into his direction. The elf's dagger gleamed when another bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, and a second later the orc joined his dead companions on the ground, its throat slit cleanly from one of the creature's punctured and disfigured ears to the other.  
  
The torrential rain almost immediately washed off all of the dark blood that clung to the elder twin's knife, and he raised his eyes from where he had watched the bright steel to meet the orcs' now rather frightened eyes, although a crazed glint was still hidden in their gazes. Elladan felt how the satisfaction he felt every time he killed one of these monsters grew in his heart, and the echo of his mother's cries that had resounded in his mind ever since he had laid eyes on the orcs stilled somewhat, even though it didn't fade entirely. It never faded completely, not even when he was asleep; he was never able to forget the sounds of his mother's torment…  
  
His eyes darkened even further at these thoughts and a cold fury seemed to emanate from the elf's lithe body, almost tangible in its intensity. The orcs looked at each other, their stupid faces confused, and together they decided that their companions' death wasn't worth getting killed for by this apparently crazy elf.   
  
One of the two, an archer that had displayed a certain unwillingness to get involved in the fighting – something that suggested a certain level of intelligence on his part – turned and raced away, heading for the sounds of his fighting companions somewhere close to the cliff that dropped off sharply in the East. It was definitely a cleverer thing to do than to try and run past the elf in front of them, which was exactly what the other orc attempted to do. Before he had even taken more than a few steps, the dark haired elf moved with incredible speed, his whole body only a blur, and the dark creature fell to the ground, eyes wide and unseeing.  
  
Elladan looked down on the orc for a second, sheathing his knife, before he looked up, just in time to see the only remaining warg slowly inch backwards, its tail between its legs. When it had gained some distance, it wheeled around and disappeared between the dark trees as fast as its four legs would carry it.  
  
Well, he wouldn't miss the beast, that much was sure.  
  
Elrond's oldest son shrugged slightly, wiped a strand of dripping wet dark hair out of his eyes and took off into the direction the other orc had taken. He had to help his brother and then they could both leave this place behind and find something where it was nice and warm, and, most of all, _dry_. Elladan pushed through the dense undergrowth, easily following the sounds of fighting, the light his elven body produced the only thing except the flashing lightning to light his way. That was just their kind of luck, he decided, to be caught in the worst thunderstorm of this century. Suddenly he was very glad that Arwen wasn't coming home this winter; the mere thought of his little sister trapped in such a weather on the mountain pass of Caradhras or anywhere else for that matter was enough to send shivers down his spine.  
  
A second later he left the trees behind and stepped out into the open. In front of him, Elrohir was just fighting the last of the orcs that was still alive, a big, burly creature that wielded a broadsword rather skilfully. The bodies of two wargs and another orc were lying somewhere to his right, all in various states of bloodiness, and behind his brother he could see the edge of the cliff, the stones gleaming white in the light of the lightning.  
  
Elrohir noticed the gently glowing figure of his brother as he stepped into the open, and gave him a small smile while he danced to the side to avoid being cut in two. 'How typical,' he thought annoyed, 'I get to fight the biggest and most skilful orcs while my dear brother gets to slay the rest. It is simply not fair…'  
  
These thoughts were quickly forgotten when the orc in front of him stumbled over a tree root that protruded a little from the ground and tumbled forwards, nearly knocking the younger twin off his feet. Elrohir was quick enough to twist his body to the side while he was pushed back, and he managed to free himself of his adversary's body and dive to the side a mere three feet away from the cliff's edge. The orc who had nearly fallen over the precipice needed some more time to regain its bearing, time it did not have when fighting an elven warrior. Elrohir was upon him before the creature could even turn around fully, and a second later the large orc's body hit the muddy ground, the dark haired elf's sword protruding from its ribcage.  
  
The younger twin barely gave the orc he had just killed another look and wrenched his sword from its body, sheathing it in the same, fluent movement. He took a small step forward, grinning at his brother who was just coming closer and inwardly deciding that he could actually hear water slosh around in his quiver. He ran a hand through his dark hair, finding it so wet that he could have come out of a lengthy bath for all he knew. Oh yes. The Valar had ways of proving uncannily that it could _always _get worse.  
  
Elladan grinned at his twin, grey eyes twinkling.  
"Are you finished playing? Honestly, while you were dancing around with your friends here I killed about half a dozen over there!"  
  
"Are we comparing our kills?" Elrohir grimaced. "If so, dear brother, I am afraid that you will be surprised, because…"  
  
He never got to finish that sentence, for a small, almost undetectable movement to his brother's left caught his eye and he moved to the right, narrowing his eyes slightly. Elladan had not seen it, but a small noise, like feet shifting on fallen leaves, alerted him that they were not alone. He whirled to the left, thinking that perhaps the warg had returned, but it was too late. A moment too late he realised that it was not the warg, but the more intelligent orc that had fled from him, the only remaining archer of the group. The orc archer that was aiming at his twin right now.  
  
He didn't even have time to move an inch into the orc's direction before his keen elven ears detected the swishing sound of an arrow that was being fired, and he turned just in time to see the projectile burrow itself in his twin's shoulder. Elrohir's head shot up with a start, eyes wide and unbelieving as the force of the impact propelled him backwards.  
  
Elladan was already running toward his brother before he had fully realised what was happening, a strange shout ringing through the air he couldn't remember uttering, but even in the moment he broke into his desperate run he knew that he would be too late. Under normal circumstances Elrohir might have had a chance to stop his momentum or to gain a foothold, but the ground was sodden and muddy and too slippery for any such action.  
  
Everything seemed to happen in slow motion to Elladan, and so he saw clearly how his younger brother's body reeled with the impact and was pushed backwards as if struck by an invisible fist. Elrohir's hands flew immediately to the dark shaft that had hit him in the right shoulder, and his eyes fastened on his twin's as he was pushed into the direction of the cliff's edge.  
  
Elladan gave an extra burst of speed in the irrational hope to reach Elrohir in time, looking with wild, desperate eyes at his brother's identical grey orbs that were full of pain, fear and regret.   
  
"Elrohir!! No!!"  
  
Another shout rang out, a part of his brain this time clearly identifying it as his, but Elladan paid it no heed. All he could see were the wide, amazingly calm eyes of his twin that rolled back into his head as shock set in and he stumbled backwards, falling over the edge of the cliff and disappearing from view.  
  
  
  
  
  
**TBC...**  
  
  
  
  
_yén - elvish unit of time, equivalent to 144 years_  
_gwanur nín - my (twin) brother  
mellon nín - my friend_  
  
  
  
**It seems that, somehow, their luck is just as bad as Aragorn's or Legolas'. Must be genetic, really... *g* Oh, I kind of forgot to warn you of the cliffy, right? I'm sorry, really... *evil grin* Whether it's going to be a cliff-hanger or a cliff-faller (see, I have learned from my last story! *g*) we'll see on Thursday, I think. What do you think? Reviews of course encourage me and are generally appreciated. So: Review? Please? **  
  
  
  


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**Additional A/N:  
  
Firnsarnien** - LOL, so any elf pain and angst will do? Well, if that's the case you're just right here, of course... *evil grin* I guess you're right, in the end Estel will lighten their spirits, but this is taking place about three-hundred years before his birth, so he won't be in here. Sorry. *shrugs* You can't have everything, right?  
**Nikara** - *hangs head in shame* Well, I was planning to update this more frequently! I really was, but fate or evil telephone company people didn't let me... Great you like Glorfindel, I love him too! He's adorable! *huggles him* And I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to tell you more about the word. Sorry. *g*  
**Iverson** - I know what you mean, my sister and I do that all the time as well. She's clearly not listening when I'm taling to her and yet insists that she was! It's so infuriating! *grrrrr* What do you mean? *innocently* I? Devised injuries for whom? I don't know what you're talking about! I would never hurt them - or would I? Hmm, my alter ego might... *g* We'll see...  
**Mouse5** - *singing* I'll never tell, I'll never tell... Sorry, but there's really no way I'm telling you what Glorfindel wrote on Erestor's forehead. I'm not suicidal, you know, and after a balrog that elf would have no trouble killing ME... You want me to write a story about Glorfindel? Just about him? Hmm, tough one... *g***  
Kaeera** - *zufriedenes Grinsen* Na, magst' meine Wortkreation? Das ist doch schoen zu hoeren... *g* Und recht hast du: Comic relief ist ja was schoenes, aber sie sind erwachsene Elben, um Himmels Willen! Sie haben doch ganz andere Probleme, nech? Ich find' es echt toll, dass dir die kleine Geschichte gefaellt, und noch mal grosses Entschuldigung wegen der Verspaetung. Alles die Schuld der Telekom, ehrlich. Nun aber haelt mich nichts mehr auf, und die naechsten Kapitel gehen ganz schnell! Hoch und heilig versprochen!   
**Alisha B** - *nods* It's always like that... just like when a boy is interested in you. I'm always the last person to notice anything... *coughs* Okay, got a little distracted here... *g* I'm very sorry to hear that RL is out there to get you, and also sorry that I didn't make it on Thanksgiving. All the phone company's fault, really. And you cut yourself AGAIN? Girl, I swear you're just as bad as Estel! *shakes head*  
**Firniswin** - This almost made you cry? Oh, then just you wait ... in later chapters it get much worse, really.... *trails off evilly* Great you like the story even though there is no Estel and/or Legolas, thanks a lot for the review!  
**Aratfeniel** - LOL, 'trouble, blood and other stuff'? Well, there's not ALWAYS trouble, blood and other stuff in my stories... *trails off at incredulous looks that readers give her* Well, alright, perhaps you're right. But only a little. And not that much blood. *g*  
**JustJordy** - Uhm, huh? I should finish THOM? I'm sorry to say that, but it's finished. Did you mean To Walk in Nigh, whose acronym is TWIN, as I have just discovered? If that's the case you don't have to worry, since this story here is already finished. I wrote it before I even started with TWIN (*giggles at name*), I don't write more than one story on principle. Well, be that as it may, thanks for the review! Great to hear that you like this story as well!  
**CrazyLOTRfan** - Wow, you're up at three-thirty in the morning? Shoo, off to bed! *g* Well, anyway, it's always nice to get a review from you, the insane...sorry, the mentally unstable Canadian girl! *huggles* Thanks!   
**Websterans** - *g* Thank you! I could in fact not write an entirely serious scene to save my life, but that's another story. *g* Well, the song was something Thranduil, Elrond, Erestor and Glorfindel were singing when Thranduil was visiting Imladris with his father Oropher to discuss matters of state with Elrond and Gil-galad, before the Last Alliance. It was something that happened (via a flashback) in "The Heart of Men", my previous story. And about the word ... well, I'm not telling! Glorfindel would kill me and I'm not yet ready to die... *g*   
**Mystic Girl1** - Du liest meine Kapitel in der Schule! Ich bin entsetzt! Als ICH noch in der Schule war, in MEINER Jugend, da waere so was nie passiert! Schande ueber dich! *g* Tja, so wie Glorfindel haben wir uns doch alle schon mal gefuehlt - so wie ich vor ner Weile, als ich nach eine, wilden LotR-Abend um 4 h nachts auf einem Freund aufwachte - Gott sei Dank vollkommen bekleidet. Da hatte ich echt fuer ein paar Momente Panik bekommen... *g* Okay. Wie auch immer. LOL, das mit den Zielscheieben waere ja wirklich noch das Tuepfelchen auf dem I. *rot werd* Na, meine Geschichten sind nicht IMMER grossartig. Aber trotzdem Danke. *g* Und du hast die anderen beiden wirklich ausgedruckt? Na, dann muss dein Drucker echt besser sein als meiner...  
**YunaDax** - *looks at this chapter* Uhm, yes, I guess we do have a litle fighting in here. And a bit of angst, as well, yes... I'm sorry for not updating any sooner, but there was really no way for me to do so. I hope this is still soon enough, thanks for the review!  
**Suzi9** - Oh, you don't have to apologise to ME. I KNOW how evil phone companies can be, and I've had some first hand encounters with BT myself. They're just as evil as the people here, and THAT means something in my opinion. *g* And your review wasn't short! I was rather long, really! I mean it! I guess you're right, it's hard to find fics that are not based on Aragorn and/or Legolas. I don't get it myself, since I adore the twins, and I would write more twinfics myself if I had the time, which I don't, unfortunately. Hmm, what do I know about Nero ... Nero Claudius Caesar, born I think 37, adopted son of Claudius, became Emperor in 54 till 68. Allegedly burned Rome, which he didn't. Poisoned his brother, murdered his mother and several wives etc. etc. Not much more without looking it up, I fear... Not that it's still of any interest to you now.. *g* *excited* Really? I can hire the chariot? Great! I name the dragon Drákon, what do you think? It's just Greek, but...  
**Jazmin3 Firewing** - Well, yeah, you're right. Let's just assume that the twins were there right after the birth when poor Arahad was still a little bit stunned, okay? *g* And I would love to meet Finarfen. I think he/she would get along just great with Stan, my balrog. He's quite sweet, really.  
**Seveawen** - So, as I said in the A/N, I didn't make the rangers up, that's all Tolkien. "Ara-" means "kingly" or something of that sort, from Sindarin "aran", meaning king. Aravorn means "Dark/Black Lord", what Arahad means in unknown. LOL, I'm sure you wouldn't mind huggling the twins. Congrats to your friend, I hope she knows what she's getting into! Babies are little demons, mark my words... And yes, I DO mean that. Uhm, I should tell you what Elrond did? I'm sorry, I don't know either. You should go and ask him, I have no idea... *g* Thanks a lot for your reviews, btw! *huggles*  
**Elvenesse** - I don't think they lost their lust for killling orcs either. I just figured they would have to ... well, get over it. Calm down a little, until they see that it's okay to kill orcs, but not at the cost of one's own life. That's my interpretation though. Sorry for keeping you waiting, again, but it wasn't my fault, honestly!  
**Maranwe1** - Hmm, to be perfectly honest it were two or three. In THOM, ch.2, in the beginning, when Elrohir and Elladan are talking about Elrond drugging Aragorn. I can't remember the exact words right now, but if you really want to know you can go back there and look it up. *g* And I know that it's not polite to keep secrets, but I can't tell you the word or Glorfindel would kill me. You don't want that, do you? Always remember that I have to remain alive to be able to update, okay? *g* Thank you, it's very nice of you to say that you like 'my' Glorfindel. I find him not easy to write, really. LOL, no, elf lords are never undignified. Never. *g* Nope, I never mentioned the song before, but they sung it all the time while they did ... well, the thing they did. I'm sorry, but that's another thing I can't tell you or Thranduil, Erestor, Elrond and Glorfindel would _all_ be after my blood. *shudders* Four angry elf lords... Thanks a lot for your long (and weird) review!  
**Sabercrazy** - *hangs head* Every time I read that review I feel bad. As I said before: I'm sorry for not updating. I really am, it wasn't my fault. Great you like Glorfindel so much though, even he appears to be rather stunned. *pokes elf lord softly* Yup, definitely stunned, or frozen in fear, whatever. *g* Hmm, action for Glor and Elrond ... I have to admit not really. A bit for Glorfindel, perhaps - but hey! He will have some in To Walk in Night, promise! I might even put in some torture just for you! So, what do you think? *g*  
**Christine** - *whispers* I think you scared them a little. Here! *hands her large net* Use this, it works just fine with elf princes and rangers... *winks* Thanks for your compliments and for your review in general!  
  
**Thanks a lot for all the reviews, even despite the fact that I didn't update for ages! You're very patient and understanding - thanks a lot! **  
  
  
  
  



	3. Fallen

**Disclaimer:** For full disclaimer, please see chapter 1.   
  
  
**A/N:**  
  
**Okay, I'll say it here again: I will not, I repeat, NOT tell anyone anything about _the word_. I'm very sorry, but I really don't want one or two elf lords out there after my blood, my life is stressful enough as it is, thank you very much. *g* So, sorry about that, but you'll have to be patient for a little bit longer - okay, make that quite a bit longer... *evil grin*  
  
It's also nice to hear that you enjoyed my little cliffy - yes, I let my alter ego out to play again, I admit it. But she gets really unhappy if I keep her locked away in the basement - besides, there is rat poison there, and I would truly hate to see what that would do to her already more than unstable and evil mind. *g* So, I hope you understand, and the cliffy wasn't THAT bad anyway, even though the twins and especially Elrohir might think differently. *shrugs* What do they know anyway?  
  
  
Okay, enough of the mindless blabber and on to the chapter! Let's see, we have ... a very, very worried elder elven twin, a very, very unconscious younger elven twin, several elf lords that find themselves in situations they would rather NOT be in and the ultimate proof that rock faces/cliffs/etc. hate elves. Fun all around, eh? *g*  
  
Enjoy and review, please!  
  
  
  
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Chapter 3  
  
  
Elladan slid a few more feet before he came to a full stop. He felt suddenly cold, paralysingly cold, a feeling that had nothing to do with the rain and cold that surrounded him, only two thoughts warring for domination on his mind.  
  
There was the powerful, nearly all-dominating urge to cross the distance to the cliff and get to Elrohir, to get to him now, but a second, even more urgent thought made him move to the side and turn around as quickly as possible. Even though everything in him told him to get to his brother, a more sensible part of his mind, the part that had been trained in warfare and survival for more than two thousand years, insisted that he killed the orc, or he wouldn't be able to help Elrohir.  
  
Whirling back towards the wood, he reached for an arrow and notched it faster than a mortal's eye could follow. Letting the projectile fly, he turned back to cliff, not even bothering to wait and see if it had hit its intended target. This one time, the arrow had been there before he had fired it. No-one hurt his brother and lived to tell the tale.  
  
Skidding to a halt next to the cliff's edge, he fell to his knees and grabbed a large stone with his left hand to avoid falling over the precipice as well, wincing inwardly when he felt the cut in his arm protest. The wound started to hurt now, badly, but he ignored it resolutely as he leaned over the edge.  
  
"Elrohir!!"   
  
The desperate cry was torn from his lips by the howling wind and swiftly carried away, and the dark haired elf felt as if the slowly fading echoes mocked and taunted him. Elladan leaned forward a bit more, staring intently down into the dark chasm.  
  
"Elrohir! Brother, can you hear me?"  
  
The thickly falling rain made it hard for him to see anything, and the growing panic that was beginning to envelop his entire being did nothing to help his concentration either. Elladan's elven eyes had a hard time piercing the shrouding darkness, but finally, after what felt like an eternity, he saw a tiny, grey-clad figure, about sixty feet below him. A tiny, twisted and frighteningly unmoving figure that looked disconcertingly like his twin.  
  
'Ilúvatar, no…' A cold, icy fist reached into his chest and began to crush his heart. It couldn't be, it just couldn't end like this!  
  
"Elrohir!" he called again, gripping the stone he held harder. "Elrohir!! Can you hear me? Answer me, you stubborn elf!"  
  
Nothing but the howling of the wind answered him, and Elladan felt how the panic inside of him even grew. He could see that his twin didn't move, and that was probably quite a good thing, too. Elrohir was lying on a ledge half-way down the cliff face that wasn't bigger than a few metres in diameter, the left side of his body hanging over the edge. If he had landed half a metre to the left, he would have fallen another forty feet, and that was something he definitely wouldn't have survived in his present condition.  
  
With an obvious effort, Elladan shook his head, reluctantly accepting a few facts. First, that there was no way of finding out if Elrohir was alright, or even alive for that matter. Second, that if his twin moved more than a few inches into either direction, he would roll off the cliff and fall to his almost certain doom. And third, that neither of the former things would change if he stayed here staring down this accursed cliff face.  
  
Scrambling backwards as fast as he could, he tried to force his panicking brain to think. All he could think of was the motionless body of his twin that was lying half-way down that cliff in front of him, and yet again the trained part of his mind took over. If he lost it now, he wouldn't be able to help his brother.  
  
He stood to his feet, eyes huge and dark in his pale face when sudden lightning flashed across the sky. With a small flash of irritation Elladan decided that this rain was bordering on unnatural. It shouldn't be possible to rain this much in such a short amount of time, and an elf shouldn't feel as wet as he did right now. It was not natural, that was what it was.  
  
Elladan forced these thoughts from his mind, staring with unseeing eyes at the rain. Their horses were too far away for him to return and get them; besides, he still had the small bag with healing herbs and bandages strapped to his back next to his quiver; that should do for now. He grimaced wryly. Oh, not even that would help him avoid his father's wrath, he was sure of that. To be perfectly honest, he was in fact rather sure that his father would fulfil his threat and really send them to Mirkwood with a letter asking King Thranduil to throw them into one of his dungeons until their time came to leave for the Grey Havens.  
  
Well, he decided with a small frown and turned back to the cliff's edge, quickly reaching behind him to make sure that his quiver was secured on his back, he would make sure it didn't come to that. He would climb down this cliff and get his brother, and then he would shake some sense into that stupid, thoughtless fool.  
  
Oh yes, that was exactly what he would do, and then he would drag him back to their father and leave for an extended – and admittedly long overdue – visit to the Golden Wood. He would stay there for a few years or a few centuries, namely as long as it would take his father to calm down so that he wouldn't order Glorfindel to lock him into a cellar the next time he saw him.  
  
'Hold on, brother,' he thought as he lowered his body over the edge of the cliff, 'I'm coming. Just don't you move an inch, you hear me?'  
  
  
Half an hour later, Elladan was beginning to seriously doubt the wisdom of his decision.  
  
At the moment, he was hanging twenty feet above the ledge his brother was lying on, on two fingers to be exact. Said two fingers that were beginning to lose their hold and slip right now.  
  
Under normal circumstances climbing down a sixty-feet-cliff wouldn't have been a problem for him, not even blindfolded or with a hand tied behind his back, but alas, these weren't normal circumstances. Of course not, he thought irritated as he desperately tried to gain a better grip on the root of a small bush that was growing right above his head, these were anything but normal circumstances.  
  
This was rather unusual, even for them, he decided. Elrohir was lying somewhere below him on that ledge that was just big enough for an elf half his size, he himself was just barely hanging onto this accursed cliff, and his arm was beginning to give him some serious trouble. The dark haired elf looked up at his left arm, looking past the slashed fabric to survey the cut that ran across his whole upper arm. It looked rather ugly now that he thought about it, red and, well, bloody.  
  
He would almost have snorted, managing to hook his fingers into a small crack next to the root he was barely clinging to. Of course it looked bloody, wounds inflicted by orc daggers or scimitars tended to do that just a little bit. Especially if they pierced the skin.  
  
Elladan shook his head and began to resume his climb down the wall. He didn't know why he was beginning to have these strange thoughts, but they were neither helping his brother nor himself. One part of him wanted to simply jump down the rest of the way and get to Elrohir, _now_, but another, admittedly incomparably more sensible part of him told him that that would help neither of them. He would most probably injure his brother further, or worse, cause him to fall off the narrow ledge beneath him.  
  
The dark haired elf shook his yet again to fling wet strands of hair out of his eyes. It was still raining, something that should not be possible. It truly seemed as if they had done something to displease the Valar or Ilúvatar himself, even though he could not say what that might have been.  
  
And still, he decided with a sudden flash of fury, not even the Valar or the One himself could stop him from getting his twin. He wouldn't care in the slightest if Manwë or Varda or any other of the Valar appeared or began to sing a little song – even though that was a rather interesting thought – for not even that would be able to prevent him from climbing down this cliff that was apparently beginning to develop a mind of its own, and a rather nasty one at that since it was beginning to crumble beneath his hands and feet.  
  
There was no way he was losing his brother like this, he would simply not think about it. Losing his mother had almost been enough to break his heart, and a small part of him once again started whispering that it had done something much, much worse than that to him, but to lose his twin would be enough to kill him as well. He couldn't imagine being separated from Elrohir, and wherever his twin went, he would go, and that included the Halls of Mandos.  
  
Elladan took a short look over his shoulder and would nearly have sung with joy when he realised that he was a mere ten feet above the ledge now. The proximity to his brother was enough for him to give him new strength and resolve, and after a few more moments he softly dropped down next to his brother, silently sending a short prayer of thanks to Elbereth.  
  
With another prayer for Elrohir to be still alive, he crouched down next to his unmoving twin and sucked in a deep, shocked breath when he took a closer look at him. Elrohir was lying on his back, his left arm and leg dangling over the edge of the cliff and the broken shaft of the orc arrow protruding from his right shoulder, a large crimson stain covering the base of the projectile. A ragged cut on his forehead had already stopped bleeding, and several large, swiftly growing bruises and smaller cuts could be seen on his face and on what was visible through the numerous rips in his clothing.  
  
Elladan swallowed hard, his right hand he had stretched out to check his brother's pulse freezing in mid-air. Eru, please no, Elrohir couldn't be dead, he mustn't be dead, please…  
  
Elrond's oldest son took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down as much as he could at the moment, and with his teeth tightly clenched he finally placed his slightly shaking fingers on his brother's wet throat. After a second, relief flooded through him, so strong that he thought the tears he had been holding back for the entire time would make an appearance after all.  
  
Elladan released the breath he hadn't realised he had been holding, and quickly grabbed his younger brother's apparently relatively uninjured left arm to drag him fully back onto the relative safety of the small ledge. After a few seconds he had managed to push Elrohir's unconscious body back as far against the safety of the stone wall as possible, hoping to shield him at least a bit from the torrential rain that way, and sat back a little, only an inch from the ledge's edge now himself.  
  
The dark elf took a few deep breaths to calm his wildly beating heart as he reached onto his back and fumbled with the straps of the small bag he had secured next to his quiver. His grey eyes were already beginning to survey the damage done to his twin's body by the arrow and the fall, his mind working at full speed now and assessing every small injury and cut. Elrohir had probably broken or cracked a few ribs – his brother seemed to have a certain preference for sustaining that particular kind of injury – especially if one considered that he had just fallen sixty feet with no chance to break his fall, and apart from the obvious problem that came from having an orc arrow sticking out of one's shoulder he could also see that this was the least of their worries now.  
  
Elladan pulled the bag off his back and grimaced when he took a closer look at Elrohir's left leg that had been dangling over the edge of the little ledge. The ribs were not so bad unless they had somehow damaged something inside of the other elf, but this… He carefully reached for the other elf's leg and withdrew his hands quickly before he had even made an attempt to straighten it. He honestly couldn't remember having ever seen a leg that looked as badly broken as this one, he admitted to himself. He could actually see the place where the bone had broken through the skin; the rain had already washed away most of the blood.  
  
The older twin's frown deepened. Elbereth, this didn't look good, and unless he was very much mistaken, Elrohir had really managed to break both of the bones in his lower leg in his amazing clumsiness, at least twice each, one might add. That was yet another thing he would have to talk with him about, Elladan decided as he lightly ran his hands over his brother's leg in an attempt to find all the fractures, except the fact that he would forbid him ever to come close to a cliff again he would have to address that; "that" being his twin's clumsiness and his unearthly ability to sustain the most horrible injuries in the most harmless environments.  
  
'Very well, it wasn't exactly a "harmless" environment this time, but still…'  
  
Elladan was too immersed in his thoughts and too worried about his twin to really pay much attention to his surroundings, but even if he had it was still doubtful if he would have noticed anything. He was an elf, after all, not a dwarf, something for which he had thanked Ilúvatar many times in the past, and so he missed the small tremors that were beginning to run through the stone of the little ledge both of them were sitting on at the moment.  
  
It was actually a rather thin stone base that was covered by a thick layer of earth that had accumulated over the years, something that had not been visible from the top of the cliff. The earth was being washed away in the torrential rain that was still beating down on them, and the weight of two beings, even two beings as light as two elves, was slowly beginning to become too much, and the fact that Elladan was kneeling at the very edge of the ledge was not helping either.   
  
The tremors began to increase in their intensity, and when the first cracking noises could be heard over the howling of the wind and the splattering rain it was already too late. Elladan's head shot up with a start, his hands releasing the small pack he was just opening to take out some bandages. Grey eyes widened when he looked down and actually saw a crack appearing right in front of his eyes, between the still unconscious body of his brother and himself.  
  
A second later, the ledge beneath his body lurched slightly to the side and seemed to drop a few inches, and only then did the elf understand what was happening. Elves did have no great love for rocks and stones, but now it became clear even to him that usually stone ledges were not behaving like this, unless…  
  
His thoughts were interrupted when another violent jolt went through the rock he was kneeling on, and in the next moment the outer piece of the ledge broke away from the rest with an ugly, sharp crack.  
  
Elladan had no time to react when he fell backwards with the rest of the rock, and the only things he thought of before he disappeared down the dark chasm were that he really should have thought of something like this, and that Elrohir would howl with laughter should he ever hear about this.  
  
After what felt like an eternity his body hit the bottom of the cliff, and he stopped thinking altogether.  
  
  
  
  
The next morning dawned as brightly as the last, and it was hard to believe for anyone laying eyes on the spectacular sunrise in the East that just a few hours ago the sky had been filled with dark grey clouds that had only been broken by an occasional shaft of lightning.  
  
Signs of the passed storm were still evident though, and even within the borders of the elf haven of Rivendell the ground was still damp and quite a few fallen branches lay on the paths that wound across the valley.   
  
The elf that stood on the steps leading up to the main building had no eyes for nature this morning, something entirely unusual for one of the firstborn. Even to the most casual observer it was obvious that he was deeply troubled, and the look in his grey eyes could only be described as haunted.  
  
Elrond sighed, slowly beginning to shake his head. It was in moments like this one that he was missing his wife the most, and be it only her steady, calming presence that had always served to calm his troubled mind. Even if Celebrían had never doubted one of his visions or forebodings, she had always exuded a quiet hope that he was wrong or had misinterpreted something, an occurrence that indeed happened once in a while, and that hope had always served to lift his spirits as well.  
  
But now she was gone and he was alone, alone with the worry, fear and despair these thoughts brought him. He had lied to Glorfindel when he had agreed that Elladan and Elrohir were probably alright, and the golden haired elf had known it just as well as Elrond knew that Glorfindel's optimism was just masking the other elf's own worry.   
  
The twins were not alright, he could feel it.  
  
The Lord of Imladris sighed again and unconsciously bit down on his lower lip in increasing agitation. Sometimes he seriously cursed the One for gifting him with foresight; to him it appeared more and more that it was only Ilúvatar's way of punishing him for something he or his people had done many an age ago. Perhaps it was punishment for some of the terrible things done by the Noldor during their flight from Valinor?   
  
He would never know, but lately it seemed to him that he only got visions of what was to come when it was already too late. It was a rare thing that he was warned of something specific, but when that happened, it had always been too late for more than a hundred years now. He had been too late to save his beloved wife from the torment that eventually drove her away from him, he had been too late to save many of his warriors and of his brother's heirs from pain and death, and now it seemed that he would be too late to save his sons as well.  
  
Elrond almost hung his head. He should have listened to his instincts, he should have kept them here until they had seen the error of their ways and accepted that blind revenge would not serve to help them or give them the peace they sought, he should…  
  
"My lord?"  
  
He stopped himself from jumping a foot off the ground, and while he was still turning around, he decided that he really had to stop getting lost in thought, or he would be the first elf to die from a stroke. And that, he reasoned, would probably only serve to highly amuse the elf that was standing in front of him.  
  
Glorfindel arched a golden eyebrow in question.  
"Did I surprise you, my friend?"  
  
"No," Elrond shook his head, "Not at all."  
  
"Of course not," the other elf smiled. "Whatever gave me that idea?"  
  
"I don't know," Elrond retorted, turning back to watch the courtyard where several elven warriors were beginning to appear now, their horses trailing dutifully behind them. "I will never understand how your mind works, I fear."  
  
Glorfindel narrowed his eyes, but apparently decided not to comment on this. He stepped to his friend's side, his long grey cape swishing behind him as his eyes wandered over the small troupe of warriors in front of him.  
"We're ready, my lord. We can leave in a few minutes."  
  
Elrond turned slightly and looked at his golden haired advisor seriously.  
"I thank you, _mellon nín_. I had very much hoped it wouldn't come to this, but apparently…"  
  
"It does not surprise you, does it?" Glorfindel asked, smiling softly.  
  
"No," Elrond shook his head again, "Not in the slightest. I cannot remember the last time this fair house has been graced with good fortune."  
  
The golden haired elf looked at his friend with sad eyes. He too had hoped that today it would be different, that Elrond would tell him that his feelings had proven to be false, that he was sure that the twins were alright, but it had proven to be a vain hope. He had needed to take only one look at his lord's face this morning to realise that in fact nothing was alright, and least of all his lord's sons.  
  
"Do not despair, my lord," he said. "We will find them and bring them back, and we won't let them out of this house again until they have seen reason." He paused and added after a moment, "And after you have patched them up again, naturally."  
  
"Naturally," Elrond agreed somewhat dryly. "I think I can detect a certain pattern in their behaviour of late."   
  
"Indeed," Glorfindel smiled. "It usually involves horrid injuries, near-death experiences and me dragging them back here."  
  
"And I know none as perfectly suited for that job as you, my friend!" a new voice announced, and with a small, respectful bow to Elrond a dark haired elf stepped forward, a smug smile on his lips.   
  
Glorfindel briefly closed his eyes, vainly hoping that this was merely an apparition. When he opened them again, however, the elf was still standing next to Elrond, the smile now definitely amused. The golden haired elf almost hung his head. And here he had thought that this day could not possibly get any worse.  
"Erestor."  
  
Erestor smiled at the blonde elf, an unreadable twinkle in his eyes.  
"Good morning, my Lord Glorfindel. I trust you are well?"  
  
Glorfindel gave the other elf lord a bright, blinding smile and grabbed his arm, pulling him a little to the side while he tried to ignore his lord's raised eyebrow who was watching in obvious amusement.  
  
"What are you doing here, my lord Erestor?" he asked in a friendly tone of voice, looking pointedly at the other's attire. The dark haired elf wasn't wearing his usual robes but clothing similar to Glorfindel's, made of soft, grey elven fabric, complete with a long cape and a sword on his belt.  
  
"Why," Erestor asked, somehow managing to project an air of hurt surprise, "I am accompanying you, of course."  
  
"Of course," Glorfindel nodded before he blinked quickly, ignoring the soft snickering that could be heard from somewhere behind him that sounded suspiciously like Elrond. "What do you mean, 'accompanying me'?"  
  
"You did not think I would let you go after those two irresponsible elflings alone, did you?" Erestor asked, something like enthusiasm shining in his eyes. "I will accompany you, my friend, and none of those who have hurt them will be able to stand before our wrath!"  
  
Glorfindel stared wide-eyed at the other elf, his mind working so fast and hard that he was surprised that no-one could see the sparks flying. _This _was the reason why he usually spent the time Erestor was feeling adventurous in Lothlórien, but since he had been too unobservant to notice the subtle signs that indicated that the younger elf was entering the aforementioned time, he was stuck here, and it seemed that the walls were closing in on him, figuratively speaking.   
  
He couldn't think of any sensible reason why Erestor shouldn't accompany him, except the very obvious one, namely that he would go insane if he did. He was still planning to do something rather drastic to his lord's chief advisor, besides, if Erestor was in this kind of mood, he was even worse than the twins in terms of recklessness and impulsive behaviour. Glorfindel shuddered inwardly. There was no way the dark haired elf was coming with them.  
  
"Well," he began, displaying a false smile he had learned a very long time ago at the royal court of Gondolin. "You are needed here, my friend. Is that not correct, my lord?"  
  
Elrond forced his face into a stern façade, inwardly thanking the Valar for friends such as these. Somehow Glorfindel always managed to cheer him up a little, even if it happened unintentionally sometimes. Ignoring the warning glare his golden haired advisor shot him, he answered,  
  
"No, my friend. I think I will be able to do without Lord Erestor for a few days."  
  
He would almost have laughed aloud when the warning glare turned into unbelief, then into outrage and then into something that could only be described as passionate thirst for revenge. The Lord of Rivendell forced himself not to gulp. Suddenly he could very well imagine how that poor balrog must have felt all these ages ago.  
  
Erestor interrupted the icy silence that had fallen by clapping his fellow elf lord heartily on the back.  
"You see, Glorfindel? I will be ready in a minute!" He turned to Elrond and bowed once again. "Do not worry, my lord, we will return those troublesome sons of yours to you. They will be just fine, I'm sure."  
  
With an encouraging smile at his lord he turned and walked down the stairs leading to the courtyard, or rather _skipped_ down the stairs leading to the courtyard, Glorfindel noted despairingly. This was a behaviour highly unbecoming an elf lord, he decided, besides, it did not bode well for his future.  
  
He closed his eyes and shook his head. O Elbereth, all he wanted was to go and find the twins as fast as possible, and now here he was, condemned to taking Erestor with him. He opened his eyes again that were now of a dark, rather stormy blue colour, and fixed them on his lord who wasn't looking as smug anymore, which he noted with some satisfaction.  
  
"That was unnecessary," he all but hissed.  
  
"On the contrary," Elrond shook his head, the smug look reappearing in the blink of an eye. "You forget that Erestor is a capable warrior, even if he chooses to stay here in Imladris most of the time. Besides, you do not honestly believe that I could keep him here when he's like this, do you?"  
  
Glorfindel glowered at the dark haired elf lord, knowing perfectly well that the other was right. If Erestor wanted to accompany him, then accompany him he would. Still, Elrond could have shown any measure of support!  
  
"You do realise," he began slowly, beginning to smile in a rather disquieting way, "That this is not over yet, do you not, my lord? Thanks to you I have been able to come up with something rather inventive to do to my fellow councillor, but," he paused and his smile grew even more disquieting, "there is always the possibility of including a second person."  
  
Glorfindel watched with rather a lot more satisfaction than he should rightly feel how the other elf blanched at his words, and after a few moments reminded himself of the fact that Elrond had been through enough already – not that that changed anything, of course, but he wouldn't torment him any further before exacting an appropriate revenge. Something that involved Elrond, Erestor and lots of pain and blood.  
  
"I am sure there is," Elrond nodded, giving a rather good impression of a person who wasn't intimidated one bit by that prospect and turning back to the courtyard where Erestor was appearing now, leading a horse that didn't look too happy about the whole situation either. "But I'm afraid it will have to wait a bit yet."  
  
Glorfindel gave him an unreadable look and quickly shook his head, taking a step forward and bowing to his half-elven lord.  
"It will, my lord. First we will find those errant elflings that I will personally kill once we got them back here." He paused shortly and added, "With your permission of course, my lord."  
  
Elrond turned slightly and looked at his golden haired friend, a rare sparkle of true humour lighting up his grey eyes that reminded Glorfindel suddenly of happier days long past.  
"You may have one. I claim the pleasure of killing one of them myself."  
  
Glorfindel hid his momentary surprise and nodded smoothly.  
"Of course, _mellon nín_. That is your prerogative as a father."  
  
"Precisely. A small compensation for all the trouble and worry they put me through." Elrond's smile faded quickly and he turned serious grey eyes on his friend. "Bring them back to me, Glorfindel. I could not bear to lose them as well, not so soon after…" The dark haired elf lord fell silent and took a deep breath. "And especially not now. All they have known for nearly a _yén _are hatred and anger, and if the worst should happen if their hearts are like this…"  
  
"It will not happen," Glorfindel interrupted with quiet determination, looking his friend in the eye. "You have not seen their deaths, so there is still hope. Your sons are strong and stubborn; they will not let themselves be killed just like this. We will find them, Elrond, that I promise you."  
  
Elrond nodded slowly, eyes fixed on his advisor's face.  
"Thank you, my friend. I will be waiting for all of you, and may the Valar watch over your path."   
  
Glorfindel bowed his head and began to walk down the stairs to where one of his warriors was waiting with his horse, when Elrond added as an afterthought,  
  
"That would be the twenty-fifth time you bring them back here in about seventy years, I think."  
  
The golden haired elf took the reins from the warrior and mounted his horse, waiting for his men to precede him before he turned back to his lord, stubbornly ignoring Erestor who had stopped his horse a few feet away from him. While Glorfindel was still trying to find a diplomatic answer to Elrond's statement, Erestor nodded cheerfully, looking back over his shoulder at the half-elf.  
  
"Yes, my friend, but that is only counting the times our good Lord Glorfindel here brought them back. There were the four times the Prince of Mirkwood found them, and the one time Mithrandir stumbled over them, and the three times various messenger of the Galadhrim saved them. We didn't really help there…"  
  
Glorfindel resisted the urge to burrow his head in his hands. This time of year was apparently interfering with Erestor's intelligence as well. With a rather hasty nod into Elrond's direction he spurred on his horse, forcing Erestor to do the same. After a few seconds they had reached the gates and were following the other warriors over the bridge that arched over one of the deep ravines that surrounded the Last Homely Home, and the golden haired elf turned to the side and glowered at Erestor.  
  
"Did you really think he wanted to hear exactly how many times the twins have almost got themselves killed? Besides, you have been counting?"  
  
The dark haired elf gave Glorfindel a lenient smile that once again awoke in him the powerful urge to kill him – painfully, if somehow possible.  
"Of course! Don't tell me you have _not _been counting, _mellon nín_?"  
  
Glorfindel spurred on his horse slightly to catch up with the rest of the warriors that were quickly disappearing down the path that led down to the banks of the Bruinen.  
"Of course not," he replied curtly.  
  
Erestor's smile grew even more lenient, and Glorfindel's urge to wrap his hands around the dark haired elf's throat and kill him now before he drove him insane even intensified. Why oh why couldn't Erestor be like everyone else when he was feeling adventurous? He would even have taken a lecture on early Adûnaic grammar right now; everything was better than Erestor brimming over with enthusiasm at the prospect of hunting a few orcs.  
  
"You were," Erestor grinned at him. "You told me yourself the night before the last. Just before you wrote that … word on my forehead, if my memory serves me right." The dark haired elf leaned forward a bit, a wicked sparkle appearing in his eyes Glorfindel had never seen in any other person's than in one of the twins'. "That is still something I will have to pay you back for, I believe."  
  
Glorfindel returned the grin in kind, masking the fact that he still had no idea what _the word _had been.  
"That is a question that will need to be addressed after we find the twins and drag what is left of them back to our lord, is it not?" He righted the quiver on his back in a token gesture and looked pointedly at the other elf. "And only if I don't get to you first, my lord."  
  
Erestor didn't look alarmed like he would have done at any other time, and neither did he look properly impressed, Glorfindel noticed with a small stab of annoyance. Even the balrog had looked somewhat concerned when he had looked at it like that, but then again, the balrog had probably not had its adventurous part of the _yén _either.  
  
"I take that as a challenge then?" the dark haired elf asked, and with another grin he spurred on his horse that seemed to have accepted its fate and obeyed, projecting a rather weary air of acceptance.  
  
Glorfindel watched speechlessly how Erestor moved his horse to the head of the small troupe of warriors, and a sigh escaped his lips as he manoeuvred his horse around a large fallen log that half-way on the path, having been ripped off a tree by the storm last night. Even though storms were never a real problem in Rivendell, the last one had been rather bad, and the grey clouds that were beginning to accumulate at the edge of the horizon promised even more of the same.  
  
The golden haired elf sighed again.  
  
He could truly not see how he should survive this journey, and that was not even beginning to take into account what Elrond would do to him when he returned with what was left of the twins.  
  
  
  
  
Elladan awoke slowly, something he had not consented to, by the way.  
  
If he had had it his way, he would have remained in blissful unconsciousness for the next few ages, but his body seemed to have other ideas. If it had been only his body, he would probably have been able to come to terms with the whole situation and go back to sleep, but, as he found out a few rather confused seconds later, his subconsciousness had decided to rebel against him as well.  
  
He didn't really know why it thought it so important that he woke up and moved, but it was definitely a fact that it did, and, by the Valar, that fact was beginning to greatly annoy him, since slowly his consciousness was being pulled back from that warm, peaceful and comfortable place to another not so warm, peaceful and comfortable one.  
  
No, he decided after a few more minutes, it was clearly neither of the above; to be explicit, it was cold and … wet. Very, very wet, the young elf amended with that certain dreamy feeling that materialised every time he had hit his head on something either very large or very solid – or on something very large _and _solid.  
  
It took his muddled brain some time to realise that a piece of vital information had just been presented to him: He appeared to have hit his head. Elladan frowned mentally. He couldn't remember when that should have occurred; to be precise, he couldn't remember what had happened at all!  
  
That thought served to bring him yet a little closer to consciousness, and he renewed his efforts to shake off the last dark shreds of sleep that threatened to pull his beleaguered mind under again. No, he decided as he fought himself back to awareness, slowly beginning to take in more of his surroundings, that was not exactly true. He did remember some things, for example rain, and lots of it at that. Rain did in fact explain why he was feeling wet, even though it did not really explain why he was cold as well, for elves usually did not feel things such as these.   
  
After some more minutes, glazed grey eyes opened, the pupils unfocused and moving around unsteadily in their search for something to fix on. Elladan needed some time to understand that he was lying on his left side, and that the strange thing in front of his eyes was his left arm that was half buried in a quagmire of unheard-of dimensions. Which would explain why he couldn't move his head an inch, he nodded inwardly, glad that he had found an explanation for his skull's obvious inability to obey his brain's commands.  
  
There was not much he could see from his position on the ground except his arm and a few rocks and what looked like rather big branches that littered the ground of wherever-he-was, and so he slowly began to push himself into a sitting position, wincing when he heard a soft, sucking noise when he had finally gathered enough strength to lift his head out of the mud. A second later, a sharp pain lanced through his temples, and his hands flew to his aching head, pressing against his skull in an attempt to ease the pain that was located exactly behind his temples.  
  
When the pain had subsided to bearable levels and his brain had apparently decided to give up on its attempts at spontaneous expansion, Elladan slowly removed his shaking hands, only to find that his right came away bloody. He studied the red liquid with a slightly puzzled expression on his face, and began to feel for the gash that had to be somewhere on his face. Finally he found it, a large cut on his forehead that reminded him of something, something important, something he knew he should remember…  
  
While he was still pondering this, his eyes wandered over his surroundings, and he found that he was at what looked as the bottom of a ravine, a rather small one at that. The stony ground was almost entirely covered with dead branches, mud, leaves and even a small tree or two that seemed to have fallen into the gorge not too long ago. The ravine was not nearly as big or deep as the one his father had founded Imladris in; it looked no more than a hundred feet deep or so…  
  
Elladan suddenly gasped and bolted upright, the pain in his protesting body forgotten for the moment. Images flittered through his mind, too quickly for him to identify all of them, but still, the ones he was able to see clearly were enough to freeze his heart in his chest.  
The orcs … the sudden storm that had caught up with them sooner than they had thought … Elrohir's face as that arrow hit him … Elrohir's face as he stumbled backwards and fell…  
  
"Elrohir!" he gasped horrified and shot to his feet, only to crumble back to the ground with a barely stifled, hoarse cry. A quick examination revealed the source of his discomfort: His right ankle was swollen to the extent that it resembled more a small boulder than an elven appendage.   
  
The older twin cursed under his breath as he took a closer look at his foot. He reached for the healing bag he knew should be strapped to his back, only to remember that it was either still with his brother – something he fervently hoped – or somewhere … down here. Elladan gave his mud-covered surroundings that very much looked as if they had seen a recent orc invasion a brief glance and decided that, if it was indeed down here, he would never find it again. Scowling darkly, he began to remove his cloak and tear it into strips to somehow support his ankle; he wouldn't be able to climb up that wall otherwise.  
  
A small voice started laughing incredulously at that, but he silenced it quickly. It was the only thing he could do, he thought grimly while he wrapped wet pieces of cloth around his foot, his face contorted with pain, he had to help Elrohir. There was no way his twin had climbed back up since he himself had fallen, and he wasn't down here either, so Elladan reasoned – and prayed – that he was still up that little ledge he could see about forty feet above him.  
  
After some more minutes, he shakily rose to his feet, suppressing a wince when his foot touched the ground. 'It will have to do,' Elladan decided, trying to judge the sun's position which wasn't made easier by the thick clouds that covered the sky. It would start raining soon again, just wonderful…   
It was just after sunrise, he decided finally, turning to the cliff face and trying to suppress the shiver that raced across his back when he saw a sharp, ragged rock he had just missed by an inch when he had landed in his little quagmire. A few inches to the right and he would be dead now. He quickly took his mind off that rather depressing topic; sunrise, that meant he had been unconscious for at least seven or eight hours!  
  
Urgency rushed through his mind like a tidal wave; all the things that could have happened to Elrohir since then! It had all been his fault in the first place; it had been his fault his little brother had got hurt. He should have seen the archer sooner, he shouldn't have let it escape when he had fought the others, he should have reached his twin sooner! And then, when he _had _reached him, he had foolishly neglected to check if the ledge was stable enough, and had promptly fallen off himself!   
  
Elladan shook his head, reaching out with his left hand to grab a slightly protruding rock about a foot above his head and frowning when he noticed the cut he had sustained in the battle yesterday, the cut that looked rather ugly and red now, caked with mud that only served to compound that impression. He ignored his body's discomfort and began to pull himself up the rock face. He was still in much better shape than Elrohir, he berated himself, all he had were some minor cuts, a twisted ankle and a few bruises; nothing that wouldn't heal in a few days. It was his brother who was lying somewhere up there on a tiny ledge, lying there because _he _had been too slow to help him…  
  
The dark haired elf shook his head slightly, welcoming the pain the movement brought as something that would help him concentrate. He couldn't think of that now, he couldn't think of what Elrohir's body had looked like when he had last seen him, _he mustn't_, or he would go insane, right here, right now. He couldn't lose his twin, not now, not ever, and certainly not so soon after their mother!  
  
Dark memories once again surfaced, memories of pain, despair and helplessness, and he felt how the lingering echoes of these emotions re-awoke in his heart, stirred to life only to burn stronger and hotter than ever before. Yet another emotion made an appearance: Anger. Anger at the evil fate that had cursed him and those he loved with death and pain, an anger at those who took his loved ones and left him behind with the despair and no way to rid himself of it.  
  
Elladan shook his head again, grabbing once again for a handhold in the ragged wall above his head. Anger would not help him now, it would only make him weak and cloud his judgement; therefore preventing him from coming to Elrohir's aid. There was still hope, Elrohir was still alive, and he would continue telling himself that until he was proven otherwise.  
  
He closed his hand tightly around the stone and hoisted his body up, already looking for the next handhold. He would get to him in time; Elrohir just had to be alive, please Elbereth, let him not be dead…  
  
Slowly Elladan began to climb up the rock face, his body moving automatically now as he searched for hand- and footholds, all the while trying to ignore the nagging fear in his heart that grew with every inch he ascended, a fear that, once again, he would be too late.  
  
  
  
  
  
**TBC...  
  
  
  
  
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_mellon nín - my friend  
_ _yén - elvish unit of time, equivalent to 144 years_  
  
  
  
  
**One wouldn't have thought it possible, but the twins' luck really turned from bad to worse, huh? *shakes head sadly* Poor elflings... Well, there is one positive thing though: This is no cliffy! *beams* Great, huh? The next chapter has one though, but I never said that. *g* Speaking of which, the next chapter should be here on ... Monday, I think. They're only five all in all, so in roughly a week this fic will be finished anway. It might be quicker if you review! *g* Really, just try it!  
  
  
  
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**Additional A/N:  
  
Jazmin3 Firewing** - Really, I mean it. I'm not telling! You will have to use your imagination... *evil grin* Well, be that as it may, I'm sure that Stan and Finarfen would get along just great! We should really let them meet and do balrog stuff together ... you know, elf-roasting, wizard-down-an-abyss-pulling, thing like that. *g* What do you think?  
**Nikara** - Well, I did disappear more or less. I experienced some heavy withdrawal symptoms, and wasn't exactly what you would call amiable company. *g* But that's the past, I got back my internet, got a new IDE drive for my computer so I can use it instead of the laptop (finally! an 14'' screen wasn't exactly fun!) and today I established a network between my computers and my sister's. Now we can do lots of fun stuff! *evil grin* Ah well. Whatever. Thanks a lot for your review, and I'm very glad to hear that you like Glorfindel. Honestly.  
**Alisha B** - *watches her lecture, wincing at several points* Just agree to everything she says, boys ... No, Elladan, don't look at her like that ... *sighs* See? Now she got the balrog and that really ugly cave troll ... oh, this is gonna get messy.... *g* LOL, I REALLY enjoyed the lecture! They most certainly deserved it! I wonder myself how they have managed to survive as long as they have... *shakes head* Reckless elflings. But I'm very thankful that you returned Elrohir to his near-death-situation. I hate it when people kidnap my characters and don't return them to where they found them. *disapproving look* I'm also glad to hear that your cuts are only scratches. Though if I were you, I wouldn't mention these exact words in Elrond's presence. He reacts rather ... erratic when he hears " only a scratch". I dunno why either. He's just weird, I guess... *g* Thanks a lot for your great, slightly weird review! Don't worry though: I love weird! Really!  
**Mouse5** - *shrugs innocently* I don't know. But you know, as soon as I see a cliff I get this irresistible urge to throw someone off it - might be connected to that... *g* A one shot about Erestor and Glorfindel, huh? I might actually do that, in between stories sometime... Good idea. I'll most certainly think about it. *nods* Yup.  
**CrazyLOTRfan** - *beams* Great I could make you forget school for a while! That's really very nice, and since I know how much you like cliffies: The next chapter has another cliffy, and a rather nice one I think. Not as good as the last one, but not bad either. Thanks a lot for all your wonderful reviews!  
**Farflung** - LOL, you are the first to discover that I think - **T**rouble and **T**wins. *g* It's very nice to hear that you somewhat agree with my description of the twins - I always find it rather hard to describe both the 'merry' and the serious side of elves, and especially the twins. I mean, funny is alright, but they're over 2500 years old, for crying out loud! I'm not really sure about the whole question though, I mean about them going to Valinor or not. I mean, there is only this little tidbit somewhere in one of Tolkien's letters or something like that that the twins stayed as well, in the end of RotK or the appendixes it just said they dwelt a long time yet in Middle-Earth. So I somehow always thought that they would sail to Valinor in the end, but that's just my opinion. Thank you very much for your long reviews!  
**Firnsarnien** - Yeah, I kinda figured that you would think that when I got your review for the other story. I'm sorry, but I really want to get this story over with as soon as possible since it WAS Kaeera's birthday story at one point or other. A long time in the past now, unfortunately... Your prediction about elf angst might be correct, but more in the next chapter than in this one. You know, unconsciousness and all that... *waves hand vaguely* And you're right: No CLF this time! Yay!  
**Kaeera** - Na ja, aber ich bin ja einer dieser dummen Perfektionisten. Kein einfaches Leben, aber ich werde nervoes, wenn ich laenger als 5 Tage nicht geupdated habe. Wie heisst es so schoen: So sue me. *g* Und ja, jetzt kommt das, worauf sich dein sadistisches Herz gefreut hat, aber das ist eigentlich eher erst im naechsten Kapitel dran. Aber das kommt ja auch blad, also keine Sorge. LOL, eingewachsene Zehennaegel und Thrombose? Na, das haben die verdient! *g*  
**Silvertoekee** - Yeah, just like all males, aren't they? They just DON'T THINK, in Elbereth's name! I don't know why men/male elves do it... *shrugs* They're kinda stupid, I guess... And no, I won't say anything about the word. Sorry.  
**Suzi9** - Uhm, yes. I am sadistic, in a way at least, I guess. I mean, it's more my alter ego's fault, but since she's a part of me you're right. Sort of. *g* What in the name of the Three were you doing in the hospital? Are you sick? Ill? Something like that? I really hope you're okay - I would hate to lose a loyal reviewer... *g* Great you like Drákon, I hope I can get him after christmas? The chariot would be nice too, but the dragon is more important. *g*   
**Mystic Girl1** - Meine Rede. Alles, was juenger als ich ist, ist moralisch verdorben. Ist eine relativ narrensichere Einstellung, glaub mir... Ausserdem habe ich meine Schwester als lebendes Beispiel. Glaub mir, es ist wahr... Wann genau ist dein Geburtstag? Der kommt gleich in meinen Kalender! Und ich gebe zu, dass Elladan's Plan nicht allzu helle war, aber na ja, er stand unter psychischem Druck? Oder so? *g* Schoen, dass du cliffies magst. Ich glaube, ansonsten dreht man bei mir auch ziemlich schnell am Rad... LOL, deine Liebesbrief-Idee gefaellt mir! Schade, dass die Geschichte schon fertig ist, aber na ja... *g* Und: Wenn ich jetzt AEFAE lese, schaudere ich manchmal schon zusammen. Ich mag sie immer noch, ist schliesslich meine erste Geschichte, aber ehrlich... *schuettelt Kopf*  
**Firegirl353** - *g* Nope, I guess plotting is yet another thing a proper elf lord never does. But ... well, I think our dear Glorfindel is ready to make an exception just this once... Hmm, why does Nili love cliffies so much? I think mainly because she has an evil alter ego. But there might be other reasons. *shrugs* We will never know, I fear... *g* And: London is wonderful! I absolutely LOVE it, the atmosphere is great, even though it's ridiculously expensive. You wouldn't BELIEVE what you pay for a coffee there... *shakes head* But still, more than worth it. If I had £5000 too much a month, I would move there without a second thought. And no, English is not my first language, and Latin is my second. My first is German, which, I guess, makes me a German as well. *shrugs* Stupid language, but what can you do... Great you like the story though, and I fear that you might be right about the sense getting knocked into them. Poor elfsies. *evil grin*  
**Sabercrazy** - I know exactly what you mean. When my internet broke down, the first thing I thought of was that you guys would kill me. *g* I really hate updating too late, especially since I hate it myself when people do it. *g* And yes, I was indeed considering the possibility of Glorfindel torture. I mean, he's just begiing for it, isn't he? *shakes head in disgust* Jeez, I guess I really need professional help... And, technically speaking, a lightsabre is neither sharp nor pointy, is it? *grins openly* And, once again, you're right: To be perfectly honest, I have no intentions of ever explaining what the word etc. is. It would ruin the whole thing, since no matter what I come up with it would never be as funny or weird as what all the other people reading the story have thought of. So, I'll just leave it to everybody's imagination. I'm kinda lazy, I admit it. *g* And yes, I guess the twins' and Aragorn's bad luck has merely rubbed off on Legolas. Bad company, definitely... *g*  
  
**A heartfelt Thank You to all my wonderful reviewers! I'm quite busy at the moment, and reviews just cheer me up no matter what! Thanks!**  
  
  
  



	4. Causes And Consequences

**Disclaimer: **For full disclaimer, please see chapter 1.  
  
  
**A/N:  
  
Hmm, I was asked to give you a good reason why I won't disclose what 'the word' is. So, first: I am evil, I like watching you suffer. *g* No, j/k, the more important reason is a little more complex. It's rather hard to explain, but ... well, it's not really important anyway what _I_ think it is, is it? I mean, if I tell you now what I think the word should be, one half of you won't think it one bit funny and the other half will think I'm nuts. That's the way it is in stories: The readers have to use their imagination, and if I would define everything to the last bit it wouldn't be half as interesting. *shrugs* Sorry, that's the best I can do. I hope it made at least a bit sense.  
  
Well, to more important things... It's nice to hear that you enjoy the little Erestor-Glorfindel moments so much (even though I'm ready to bet that a certain golden haired elf lord would NOT agree with that), though I have to admit that there won't be another in this chapter. Don't despair though, both of them will make an appearance in the last chapter, namely the next. It's quite weird that this is already the second to last chapter, but we all knew that this was going to be a short story, right? *shrugs* It's still weird though.  
  
  
Okay, here is chapter 4, and contrary to what some people appear to think, my alter ego has _not_ taken over my body completely. *g* There IS a little cliffy though, but really only a little one. *nods eagerly* Really. Other than that, Elrohir wakes up from some rather unpleasant dreams to an equally unpleasant reality, Elladan gets the chance to mother his brother and both of them get even wetter. Poor elfsies, I know.  
  
Have fun and review, please!  
  
  
  
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Chapter 4  
  
  
Many minutes later than it should have taken him Elladan's cut fingers gripped the ragged edge of the ledge he had fallen off not too long ago, and a few moments later he pulled himself onto the small stone platform, trying his best to ignore his slashed left arm that was beginning to burn with a strange fire with every minute movement.  
  
The dark haired elf, however, paid no attention whatsoever to his own wounds, because all his eyes could see was his brother's crumpled body that lay pressed against the rock face, looking even worse now than it had before. To a casual observer it had to appear that Elrohir had been dumped into a large puddle of mud, had then been dragged over every sharp stone and rock in the vicinity and had then spent the night outside in the rain.  
  
Well, the last part was even correct, Elladan shrugged inwardly, sitting hunched over on his knees. He truly didn't know why he was so tired already; it had been merely a forty-feet-climb, after all! After a few deep, somewhat ragged breaths the older twin crawled over to his brother, sagging in relief when he saw that, however his condition may have worsened in the night, Elrohir was still alive.  
  
Almost as good was his discovery that the small bag with herbs and bandages he had been missing was here, lying just next to Elrohir's left arm where he had dropped it when the ledge had given way. A wave of intense gratitude swept through him; thank Ilúvatar, his brother was still drawing breath…  
  
Elladan leaned forward a bit and brushed a strand of wet hair away from his brother's cut forehead. For all the training in the healing arts he had received he could simply not figure out what to do now; to him it seemed as if there was nothing in his heart and mind but overwhelming, choking worry. Elrohir's face looked chalky under the bruises that were clearly visible in the gloomy light of the clouded morning sun, his breathing was laboured and shallow, and Elladan simply didn't know where to start treating his injuries. He hung his head; all he really wanted right now was to be at home, memories or not, to be safe in the knowledge that his father was there and that everything was being done to help his twin…  
  
After a few moments, he shook his head forcefully, pushing down the despair and self-pity that was beginning to fill his heart. Fact was that their father was not here, and if he didn't do something soon, he would lose his brother, just like he had lost his mother all those years ago…   
  
Alright, he decided, taking a deep breath, he could do it. He would not allow Elrohir to leave him as well! He let his eyes wander over his brother's body. Very well, he would start with the leg; it was probably best if he set it while Elrohir was still unconscious, and the same went for the arrow whose broken shaft was still protruding from the other's shoulder. For a moment he was tempted to bring his brother down into the ravine first, but he could still very well remember his father's voice lecturing them on broken bones and the necessity to set them as soon as possible.  
  
Elladan took out some bandages, his water bottle that had miraculously survived his fall undamaged and the healing herbs that could be administered without the need of boiling them first. He would have liked to have some athelas ready, but beside the fact that most of it was still with their horses that were somewhere in the forest up the cliff, there was no way to get a fire going up here; there simply was not enough space.  
  
Elrond's oldest son took another deep breath, trying to calm his wildly beating heart and to ignore the pain that seemed to throb through his body with every heartbeat, especially in his ankle and his left arm. The rest of him felt merely very, very bruised; it appeared that not even elven bodies survived a forty-feet-fall without some bruises and cuts. Very well, he amended after a second as a mocking voice in his head started roaring with laughter at that, make that a lot of bruises and cuts.  
  
He made a conscious attempt to stop his hands from shaking and pulled a dagger from his belt, using it to slowly cut away what was left of the fabric that had once covered his brother's left leg, which wasn't much anyway. Most of it was torn beyond recognition, and Elladan had to smile a little when it crossed his mind how very upset Elrohir would be about that. His brother's actions were a bit peculiar when it came to destroyed clothing; he always claimed that every orc there was was trying to shred his clothes, and once he had even accused him, Elladan, to be in on the whole "conspiracy".  
  
Well, this would do little to change Elrohir's mind, Elladan thought wryly while he was slowly cutting the cloth away and cleaning the open wounds on the leg with water he had mixed with some anti-inflammatory herbs. His training had completely taken over now, and so he set the broken bones in his brother's leg and merely winced when the other elf's body reared up at the sudden pain that action brought. He didn't allow his worry and fear to interfere with what had to be done, however, and so he had set, cleaned and wrapped the leg after half an hour, praying to the One that he had done it correctly and had not just condemned his twin to spending the rest of his immortal life crippled.  
  
"Splints," he muttered under his breath and looked about himself, trying to find something he could use to stabilise his brother's leg, especially if he wanted to carry him down the cliff. He had given the matter some thought, and had come to the conclusion that he couldn't ascend the cliff face, not in the condition both he and his brother were in at the moment. To climb forty feet down would be easier than to climb sixty feet up, or at least he hoped so. He didn't have a whole lot of other options anyway; he couldn't stay here and wait for a rescue, a possibility that was more than unlikely in his opinion. Elrohir didn't look good at all, and if he didn't get him to a warm, safe place where he could receive some real attention, he wasn't sure if he would…  
  
Elladan gritted his teeth and banished that thought from his mind. It was not worth pursuing, and so he returned his mind to the matters at hand. He reached for a dozen of his brother's arrows that had not been broken in his fall and began to tie them together so that they formed two rather thick bundles. Pressing them against Elrohir's bandaged lower leg, he began to tie the makeshift splints to the appendage, trying very hard not to think of what his father or any other healer would say if he or she saw them – or what Elrohir would say once he saw what he had done to his arrows. His twin wouldn't be happy about this sacrilegious use of his so highly esteemed arrows…  
  
'A good thing it is Elrohir who is injured and not Legolas,' Elladan thought sarcastically, 'That wood-elf would surely strangle me upon awakening had I touched his arrows!'  
  
That thought served to cheer him up a little, and so he started bandaging the rest of his brother's injuries, all the while muttering under his breath and telling the unconscious elf what exactly he thought of his carelessness, thoughtlessness, recklessness and general incompetence. After bandaging Elrohir's bruised ribcage as best as he could he turned his attention to his twin's shoulder. The fall hadn't been too kind to the other elf, and so about half a dozen ribs had been fractured – along with the arrow that accursed goblin had fired.   
  
That would make things harder, Elladan sighed, and carefully braced his body against his brother's, trying to restrict the other's freedom of movement as far as possible. This would be unpleasant, and even though the Valar had shown them their favour for once and granted Elrohir unconsciousness it would hurt, and he knew from experience that his brother could hit rather hard even if not fully aware of his surroundings.  
  
Elladan set his jaw and gripped the broken shaft of the arrow, and with a quick prayer to whichever Vala was willing to listen he began to pull slowly and steadily, trying his best to ignore his brother's reactions. Elrohir's body convulsed and instinctively tried to escape what it perceived to be further harm done to it, and pained moans and whimpers escaped his throat.  
  
It was one of the hardest things Elladan had ever had to do in his life, and that included watching his mother's ship disappear in the distance these 132 years ago, but he didn't let go of the arrow that was slowly beginning to slide out of his brother's shoulder, glistering red in the sparse sunlight. He tried to pay the agonised expression on Elrohir's face no heed and stubbornly continued to pull the broken shaft out of the wound, his hold on it slipping continuously since there was so little wood to hold onto. In the end, the arrow slid out with a final tug, causing the unconscious elf to rear up a last time with a cry before he fell backwards, sweat streaming down his pale face.  
  
Elladan gave the arrow he had just removed a disgusted look and flung it to the side, although not before noticing that there was something else than blood on the arrow tip, the remnants of a dark, thick substance his elven eyes could barely distinguish from the rust-coloured blood that covered the crude projectile.   
  
Poison.  
  
Just wonderful.  
  
He leaned forward again quickly, using one hand to press bandages against the sluggishly bleeding hole in his younger brother's shoulder and one hand to check Elrohir's pulse. It was fast which was to be expected after a procedure such as this one, but felt strong enough for the moment. Elladan closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax a little, using all his remaining willpower to suppress the panic that was threatening to overcome him after all. Elrohir was still alive after more than eight hours after having sustained the injury, so it couldn't have been a very fast-acting poison on the arrow head. However, there were very few orcish poisons that acted immediately; the tales of orc poisoning that dropped the strongest men or elves in a matter of minutes were a myth, so that didn't mean anything...  
  
Elladan forced his thoughts off that topic – a small part of his mind commented that he was avoiding thinking about quite a few things lately – and concentrated on binding the other elf's wound. Elrohir would survive until he had brought him down into the ravine, and Valar willing he would find some water so he could boil what athelas he had. The rangers' camp was only a few hours away, and once he had found a way to get back up into the forest where this whole thing had started, he would be able to get his brother to real help.  
  
The elf nodded as he tied off the last bandage. That sounded like a good plan; well, better than his last one anyway. He looked at his brother's pale face that appeared ghostly white in the sunlight, and reached out with a slightly shaking hand to touch his twin's cheek. Elrohir looked so lifeless, and with his eyelids closed Elladan couldn't help but wonder if he would ever see his brother's grey eyes again…   
  
All of the sudden the full meaning of what could still happen crashed down on him, and he fought the tears that wanted to escape from his eyes. He couldn't lose his brother, he could simply not imagine living without him!  
  
Elladan took a deep breath and pressed his other hand against his unconscious brother's face, looking intently into the pale, still face.  
"Listen to me carefully, little brother," he began, his voice trembling. "You will wake up once I have brought you down into the ravine. You will listen to me ranting about how irresponsible you are, you will take whatever medicine I see fit to give you and you will _not die_! Do you hear me, Elrohir? You – will – not – die! You can't get rid of me so easily, and be assured that I will follow you wherever you go! To the Halls of Mandos and back if I have to, so please spare us that journey, alright, _gwanur nín_?"  
  
Elladan stared at the face that looked so much like his own, but Elrohir showed no signs that he had heard him, not that the older twin had expected him to, of course. Still, he was disappointed when his brother neither moved nor showed any other sign that he had heard his words, even though he chastised himself immediately for that thought. Reluctantly he pulled back his hands, slowly beginning to accept that Elrohir would wake up at the exact moment he wanted to. He hadn't found any sign of a head injury other than a rather large bump at the back of his head, and to be honest he was beginning to get rather worried about his brother's continuing lack of consciousness.  
  
Elrond's older son moved as far away from his twin as possible – which was about four inches – to prepare everything he needed to bring Elrohir and himself safely down the rock face. He looked at his brother's motionless body, trying his best to convince himself that he would be just fine, and after a second or two he slowly began to shake his head.  
  
Their father would kill him when they got back home, that much was sure.  
  
  
  
  
He was back in the cave, and everything was looking just like it had nearly a _yén_ ago. The heat of the battle still seemed to hang thickly in the air, and the only light sources besides the faint light their bodies emitted naturally were two torches that a pair of warriors held, their eyes dark in their pale faces.  
  
He himself was far beyond pale; everyone who would have set eyes upon him would have instantly mistaken him for a wraith that had come to haunt the living. He knew that his brother beside him looked just the same if not worse, of course he would. Elladan always took all the responsibility on his shoulders, and, this time, he was even right to do so. It had been their fault after all; they shouldn't have let their mother out of their sight for a second, they should have taken more guards with them when they had left their grandmother's realm, they should have fought harder to protect her… They should have done that and oh so many other things, but now it was too late, and all they could do was advance deeper into the seemingly endless cave in the hopes of finding her.  
  
Half an hour ago she had been still alive, for they had been able to hear her screams that echoed deep in the cavern they were now entering. It had been those screams that had prompted them to attack, and outside the battle was still raging on, even though the goblins were definitely on the losing end. Each and every of the Imladris warriors they had brought with them was positively beside himself with fury, and that said nothing about the state of mind the Lórien guards were in that had survived the attack in which the Lady of Rivendell had been taken. They were nearly as grief-stricken as he and his brother, for they had failed the trust their Lord and Lady had placed in them. Many had known Celebrían as a young elfling and had watched her grow into a maiden of rare beauty, and to hear her call out in such obvious distress because they had failed to protect her was enough to make each of them lose their usually so unflappable composure.  
  
Half an hour was a long time though, and none could say what the foul beasts had done to her once they had realised that they had been found and were under attack. It was very well possible that they had killed their prisoner rather than let her be rescued by her people…  
  
That thought seemed to even fuel the rage that burned hotly in his chest, and he quickened his pace, not noticing that the other three elves did the same. He knew that in reality it had taken them long to find the right passage that led them deep under the mountain, but now it seemed as if only a few seconds had gone by before they rounded a corner and came upon a sight that stopped all of them dead in their tracks.  
  
Before them, in a corner of a large, dark cave, was his mother, hunched over herself. Her once white and grey gown was now dirty and torn, and heavy chains bound her slender body to the rock wall. "Slender" wasn't even the right word anymore. Celebrían had always been lithe, but now she looked so frail that a strong wind would have been able to blow her over, and the light her elven body should emit was almost nonexistent.   
  
Next to him, Elladan had already begun to rush forward, horror on his face that would remain there for many long days.  
"_Naneth_! O Elbereth, no!"  
  
His brother raced to his mother's side while he and the two warriors were following more slowly. He felt as if his limbs had frozen as well as his heart, and he stared at his mother's ruined body, trying with all his might to shake off the paralysis that seemed to have laid itself over his senses. O the Valar, it couldn't be true, their mother couldn't be gone, please no…  
  
Elladan had reached the unmoving she-elf and looked up, tears coursing down his cheeks openly.  
"She is still alive! She still lives, Elrohir!" He looked at his mother, softly stroking over her matted, lacklustre hair. "Please, _nana_, you have to wake up! Wake up, please…"  
  
Celebrían remained heedless to her son's pleas, and while Elladan was trying to open the chains that bound her to the wall, he turned, slightly to the left where he was sure something had moved, and really: There was an orc moving along the wall, doing its best to blend into the dark stone of the cave. It was clearly heading into the direction of the exit to hide in one of the other tunnels until the elves were gone, which was a rather clever thing to do, really. He wasn't ready to acknowledge the creature's intelligence, however, and in the fraction of a second he had drawn his long hunting knife and was at the orc's side, slamming it forcefully against the wall, all his hatred, self-reproach and pain blazing in his eyes and turning them the colour of dark grey storm clouds.  
  
The creature struggled to escape his grip but had no chance against the far superior strength of an elf, and he brought his knife closer to the foul being. The orc realised that it was about to die and its mouth twisted into an ugly grimace, showing rotting, pointed teeth. He knew that, before he would slit the dark creature's throat, it would taunt him and the others about their inability to come to his mother's aid sooner and start recounting what exactly he and his companions had done to her, but instead of speaking the jeering words he had heard so many times in his dreams the twisted face in front of him changed into his own, and unfamiliar words spilled from its lips.  
  
"Elrohir! _Echuio, pen-olthol!_"  
  
Elrohir stared in amazement as the orc, the cave and the other elves disappeared, leaving him in darkness. It took him a while to understand that it had been Elladan's face he had just seen a moment ago, and that it now was Elladan's voice that was beginning to register in his consciousness. The young elf's brain wasn't entirely ready to co-operate, and so he was left wondering what was happening, or, better, what had happened. Why was he here, in a darkness he couldn't penetrate? He couldn't remember what had happened to him that would justify him being in such a state, but while he was still trying to find out what he had done this time he could hear his twin's voice again.  
  
_"Albell delio ned i-vôr, gwanur dithen! Ú-bedithon adar o gûr nín!"_  
  
Elrohir mentally rolled his eyes at his brother's words, trying even harder than before to shake off the blanket of darkness that was refusing to let him make his way to consciousness. He was absolutely certain that nobody, neither elf, nor dwarf, hobbit or man, could ever be as annoying as Elladan. His older brother knew perfectly well that he _loathed _being called "little", besides, he had no right calling him that since he was older only by a couple of minutes. And he was not hiding, he was … well, he didn't really know what he was doing, but hiding was not the term he would use. He was trying to wake up, truly, but apart from the fact that his body and subconsciousness were of the opinion that that was an entirely idiotic idea, he didn't seem to possess enough energy to open his eyes which shouldn't be closed in the first place. The young elf frowned inwardly. Why were his eyes closed?  
  
He almost lost himself in the search for an answer to that question, and so he was slightly surprised when he felt two hands cup his face, the fingers feeling cold and wet against the warm skin of his cheeks.  
_"Elrohir! Lasto enni! Ú-'wanno awarthol nin na nîr a naeth, gwanur nín! Echuio!"_  
  
This was all Elrohir could take, and with determination he didn't know he possessed he once again took up the fight against the slowly thinning veil of unconsciousness that sought to separate him from his brother. He might have thought about going back to sleep to escape Elladan's scolding, but that had ceased to be an option after he had heard his twin's anxious, tear-filled voice. He had never been parted from his brother for longer than a few seasons and had seen and heard him in all kinds of situations; and right now, Elladan was very close to despairing, or as close as he had been in 132 years.  
  
He finally managed to open his eyes, blinking owlishly when all he could see at first was a large, multicoloured blob without clear outlines. After a few seconds, the image slowly shifted into a tent-like construction and his twin's face, who appeared to be kneeling next to him and wore a grin so broad that it gave him the distinct appearance of an overjoyed leapfrog.  
  
Elladan grinned at his younger brother as he fought the tears that wanted to surface after all.  
"Elrohir! Thank the Valar, you are awake! I was so worried about you; what were you thinking?"  
  
He knew perfectly well that he was babbling and stating the obvious right now, but he couldn't care less. It was nearly midday now and therefore several hours since he had reached the cliff base after a climb – with his twin bound upon his back - he _never _wanted to repeat in his entire life, and he had been trying to rouse his brother for about three hours now. He had just about come to the decision to put out the fire and move on when Elrohir had shown the first signs of waking.  
  
Elrohir squinted slightly, trying to get rid of the grey spots that still danced across his vision.  
"El'dan?" he asked weakly, not having the strength to say more.  
  
The older twin grinned again and nodded his head while his right hand was feeling for the water bottle that should be lying somewhere to his right, next to the fire to be precise.  
"Yes, little brother, it is me. You gave me quite a scare, did you know that? You have been unconscious for about twelve hours now!" He found the water skin and uncorked it with the one hand, sliding his other arm under his brother's shoulders to lift him slightly. "Here, drink this, it will help." When he saw the suspicious look that flittered across Elrohir's glazed eyes, he added with slight exasperation, "It is merely water, I promise."  
  
Elrohir accepted the water gratefully, letting his brother help him lie back down after he had drunken as much as he could. He stared up at the other elf with heavily lidded eyes, amazed at how much strength it had cost him to sit up a little and drink a few mouthfuls of water.  
"One can never be … sure with you…" he managed in a soft voice after a few seconds. "And … I'm not … little." He watched his brother smile broadly, but before Elladan could start to protest, he added weakly, "What happened, in Elbereth's … name?"  
  
Elladan looked at his brother in concern.  
"You remember the fight with the orcs, do you not?" When his twin nodded slowly, he breathed a sigh of relief and shrugged, trying to lighten the mood. "Well, that last orc shot you and you fell off the cliff. You landed on a ledge about sixty feet down, so I killed the orc, climbed down and got you down the rest of the way. You have half a dozen broken ribs, an arrow wound in the shoulder, various cuts and bruises and a badly broken leg. All in all, _ada _will have a fit when he sees you."  
  
Elrohir's eyes wandered unsteadily over the cloth he could see behind his brother, and Elladan added with a smile,  
  
"That's my cloak. I built something like a tiny tent to keep off the rain; it's been raining almost non-stop since yesterday evening. I managed to find some water and could boil the athelas we have…"  
  
"Where's the rest?" Elrohir interrupted him, narrowing his eyes slightly. He couldn't see much of his brother from where he was lying on the ground, but even he could see the large gash on Elladan's forehead and the torn cloth that had once been his twin's left shirtsleeve and that was now covered with a blood-stained bandage.  
  
"With the horses," Elladan answered lightly. "Somewhere," he made a dismissive gesture into the direction of the rock face to their left, "up there, I believe. I didn't have time to get to them before I climbed down." Reading the unspoken question in his brother's eyes, he added, "We have the most basic healing herbs, a few more bandages, our blades, my bow and about twenty arrows. Your bow was broken in the fall, I'm sorry, and so were most of your arrows." Elladan looked suddenly self-conscious and hurried to continue. "In addition to that, our cloaks, a small pot for boiling athelas we don't have anymore, no food, but plenty of water. And that's about it, I believe."  
  
Elrohir's muddled brain needed some time to process what his brother had said.  
"Why did you need to boil athelas?"  
  
Elladan looked at his younger brother, concern once again shining in his eyes.  
"Did I not mention it? The arrow you caught was poisoned. I think I treated it soon enough, but we really need to get you back to Imladris to have father have a look at you. We are not far from the rangers' camp, and once we find a way out of this ravine it shouldn't take us too long to get there."  
  
"I see," Elrohir mumbled and closed his eyes again, but his lids opened with a start when he remembered what he had wanted to ask Elladan from the start. "What about you? Are you hurt? What about your arm?"  
  
"Just a cut," Elladan shrugged dismissively. "I am fine, just a few bruises and…"  
  
"Brother," Elrohir's lightly scolding voice interrupted him. "Do not lie to me, you never manage to anyway."  
  
Elladan smiled slightly, a sudden intense wave of gratitude slamming through him. Elrohir was alive and awake, thank Ilúvatar…  
"I might have cracked my ankle, but other than that I am really alright."  
  
"You cracked an ankle? How did you do that?" Elladan shrugged and didn't make any attempt to answer that question, so his twin continued. "You used all the athelas on me," Elrohir accused his brother, eyes dark in his pale and bruised face. "You haven't washed your cut."  
  
"No," Elladan shrugged again. "It's not infected, truly."   
  
There was no need to mention to his twin that his arm was beginning to ache and his head beginning to feel slightly … fuzzy, for a lack of better word, but they had had so little athelas that he hadn't even needed to think twice about what he should do with it. He had known for sure that Elrohir would most likely die if his wound wasn't tended with the precious herb, and so the choice had been more than easy.  
  
"Elladan…" Elrohir began when a sudden, violent coughing fit seized his body. The older twin quickly stopped putting out the fire and tried to hold his younger brother's seizing body as best as he could, but every hacking cough seemed to drain the younger elf of what little strength he possesses and so he lay barely conscious in his arms after a few moments.  
  
Elladan wiped Elrohir's sweat-covered face with a damp cloth, trying not to wince when he saw the violent trembling that shook the other elf. Elrohir was in no condition to go anywhere, but they simply had no other choice. They needed to get away from here and get help, or his younger brother wouldn't live to see the coming morning. He was already far too weak, and if his wounds remained as poorly treated as they were now…  
  
"Elrohir," he began after a few minutes in which his brother had been lying in his arms with his eyes closed, obviously gathering his strength, "Can you move? We must go and find help for you. Do you think you can manage that, _gwanur nín_?"  
  
Elrohir simply nodded weakly without opening his eyes, and Elladan carefully lowered his brother onto the ground. He quickly began to collect the few things that had managed to survive the past few hours unscathed and put some more mud on the still smouldering fire to extinguish the flames completely. Slinging his bow and quiver over his shoulder, he loosened his cloak where he had tied it to makeshift poles he had driven into the ground to form a tent of sorts, and after making sure that he hadn't forgotten anything he kneeled down next to his brother in the mud and wrapped him into his cloak, ignoring his protests that he didn't need the additional warmth the rather wet fabric provided.  
  
After a short, but rather fierce argument about whether Elrohir would allow his twin to carry him – he would not – the both of them got to their feet, presenting a picture that even the most objective person would have described as wretched. Both were cut and bruised, Elrohir was so covered in bandages that it was barely possible to spy a patch of exposed skin and Elladan sported a wrapped ankle that had roughly the size of a fair-sized boulder.  
  
"Stubborn idiot," Elladan grumbled under his breath. "Always arguing, never thinking about your own good…"  
  
"Look … who's … talking," the younger twin wheezed, doing his best not to pass out on the spot. He didn't want to make everything even harder on his brother; there was no way Elladan could carry him all the way with that ankle of his.  
  
"Be quiet, little brother," Elladan commanded, slinging his left arm around his brother's waist and ignoring the way it seemed to explode with pain at that. "And don't you dare put any pressure on that leg, you hear me? I didn't set it to have you ruin it again."  
  
Elrohir merely nodded, in too much pain for a vocal answer, and so they began to take the first wobbly steps away from the cliff face. After a few dozen yards they reached a small forest that still did nothing to shield them from the torrential rain that was falling again, and Elladan stopped, shaking his head slightly to get rid of the sweat and rain that was running into his eyes. Turning back slightly, he looked back at the cliff that had nearly cost them both their lives, when Elrohir's breathless, already much weaker voice interrupted him.  
  
"He was right, you know."  
  
Elladan turned to look at his brother, who was looking at the rock wall with a far-away look in his eyes. Elrond's older son frowned, but resisted the urge to check his twin for any sign of a developing fever. He could have sworn that the athelas had been enough to rid his brother's body of the orc poison…  
"What do you mean, brother? Who was right?"  
  
Elrohir sighed, refraining to shake his head since it was telling him what exactly it would do if he tried.  
"Everyone, I guess. _Ada_. Legolas. Erestor. But I meant Glorfindel."  
  
Elladan closed his eyes and hung his head, but didn't answer. That was exactly what a part of his mind had been telling him ever since he had woken up in the largest puddle of mud he had ever seen or had ever wished to see.   
  
Next to him, Elrohir continued, his voice pained.  
"He was right. _Nana _would not have wanted this."  
  
Elladan fought against the memories that automatically surfaced at the mention of his mother, but they refused to be pushed away, swirling in his mind with the persistence of a pack of wargs trailing an elusive prey. That thought brought the older twin back to their dangerous situation and he started to turn around again, forcing himself not to think about what a pack of hungry wargs would do with them right now.  
  
When he had turned fully around, he began his stumbling, limping walk again, trying his best to carry as much of his brother's weight as possible without collapsing himself. The pain in his ankle was intense, and it took almost all of his strength not to wince every time his foot touched the ground.  
  
They had nearly reached the end of the small wood when Elladan stopped again, looking at his brother whose face was now so pale that one could almost see the blood under the white skin.  
"You are right," he whispered softly as he admitted something he had refused to think about for nearly a _yén_, "She would not have wanted this."  
  
Elrohir merely gave him a small, pain-filled smile, and so the two elven twins took up their walk again, moving on slowly as the rain kept beating down on them.  
  
  
  
  
Half a dozen hours later, darkness was falling, and Elladan was very close to taking his sword, chopping off his brother's head and telling his father that it had been an accident later.  
  
Four hours ago, they had taken a break since both of them had been ready to fall over, Elrohir more than he though. That stubborn, thick-headed, reckless elf had insisted on continuing after a few minutes, and Varda Elentári help him, he didn't know why he had agreed.  
  
Three hours ago both of them had nearly fallen down yet another ravine that had appeared to their left because Elrohir had "stumbled" over a "root", which meant that he had been too tired to go on.  
  
Two hours ago Elladan had stopped and commanded his brother to let him carry him, since he couldn't bear the expression of pure agony on his younger twin's face anymore that he was so desperately trying to hide. Elrohir would hear nothing of it, of course.  
  
One hour ago he had _begged _Elrohir to let him carry him, and if he had had any strength left, he would even have got down on his knees. This way he had merely looked at him with the biggest, most reproachful grey eyes he could manage right now, to no avail however.   
  
Elrohir had insisted that he was fine, as had been to be expected, but enough was enough. It was getting dark, and he was _not _stumbling through unknown territory with his little brother who shouldn't even be walking in the first place. Elladan set his jaw and unwittingly tightened his hold on him. He had had definitely enough now.  
  
His eyes wandered over their darkening surroundings quickly, and after a second he steered both of them into the direction of a small copse of trees that could be seen just ahead. Elrohir's laboured breathing sounded impossibly loud in his ears, and so he gave a huge sigh of relief himself when they reached the trees. Not that he was relying on his ears very much right now; he was beginning to hear strange things and the world was beginning to shift in and out of focus in a manner that was beginning to greatly amuse him.  
  
He carefully lowered his brother to the ground, and his thoughts were interrupted when his twin – who rightly shouldn't even be conscious right now – looked at him with reproach in his eyes, his face ashen and lips colourless.  
"Why've … we … stopped?"   
  
His brother's gasped words were enough to assure him that he had made the right decision, and as inconspicuously as he could Elladan reached for the small bag of herbs they had still left. Ah, here was the water bottle, now all he needed was some of that root and then…  
  
He looked at the younger elf, trying to come up with something to distract him with.  
"I need a rest," he shrugged as he tried to keep his hands that were mixing the powdered root with the water out of his brother's line of sight, not that he would have needed to bother. Elrohir was fully concentrated on not passing out from the pain that throbbed through his body, and would hardly have noticed a herd of oliphaunts had they decided to circle them for an hour or two. The only thing that might have made a faint impression would've been a pack of dancing wargs, and probably not even that.  
  
Elladan looked at his twin, for a moment forgetting that he was planning to drug him into the next age – all for his own good, of course.  
"I have been thinking. I think you, Glorfindel, _ada _and all the others were indeed right."  
  
Elrohir painstakingly opened his eyes and nodded slowly.  
"He was. Have you ever thought about what all this would do to father and Arwen?"  
  
His brother winced openly.  
"Yes and no. It somehow … never really mattered."  
  
"It does now," Elrohir nodded weakly, his eyes beginning to slide shut again. "I regret many things now, and one of them is that I was too busy seeking revenge this past _yén _to really pay attention to what my father and little sister needed." He gave Elladan a long look. "And what my stubborn, thick-headed brother needed."  
  
Elladan frowned, his concern reawakening. He didn't like the sound of his brother's words at all.  
"Why are you saying this?"  
  
"Because it is the truth," the younger twin shrugged, suppressing a coughing fit and beginning to shiver in his wet clothes. "This … will not bring her back … it will make everything simply worse. And I am too late again … too late to see it, too late to understand…"  
  
Elladan stared wide-eyed at his younger brother, the bottle that held the sleeping potion now forgotten. He had enough presence of mind left to carefully deposit it on the ground before he moved closer to Elrohir, grabbing his good shoulder tightly with both hands.  
  
"Do not talk like this!" he demanded, the words a little bit harsher than he had intended. "It is not too late for anything! We _will _get back to Rivendell, and _ada will _heal you and we _will _listen to his and Glorfindel's Things-young-elf-lords-never-do-speech, understood?" He stared at his younger brother's face, his eyes boring into Elrohir's. "Do not leave me, brother. Not now, and not ever! One day we will journey to the Havens and see _naneth _again, and until then we will do what she would have wanted us to! Do you hear me? I could not live for all the ages of this world alone! Don't you _dare _leaving me!"  
  
Elrohir looked back at him, eyes huge and dark, and Elladan wasn't even sure if his twin had really heard what he had said, so much pain and confusion was in the other's eyes.  
"You have always been the stronger one. You could … just as _ada _could when Uncle Elros died…"  
  
Elladan shook his head forcefully, tears shining brightly in his eyes.  
"I am not as strong as he, Elrohir. I could not bear losing you and live on – and I wouldn't want to either."  
  
The younger twin's eyes began to glaze over, his mind too exhausted and in too much pain to concentrate on one topic for any amount of time.  
"_Ada _… Why didn't we listen to _ada_, Elladan? We should have listened to him a long time ago…"  
  
Elladan realised that his brother was now beyond comprehending what was being said to him, and he ruthlessly pushed down the fear and panic that tore at his heart. There was no way Elrohir was going anywhere in the near future; the cold and rain on top of his injuries had finally got the best of him, and internal injuries were always a possibility, one that he definitely did not want to think about…  
  
He simply nodded and pulled his younger brother into his arms, wiping a strand of dripping wet hair out of Elrohir's eyes while his other hand felt for the water bottle.  
  
"You are right, _gwanur dithen_," he soothed softly, his concern once again spiking when his twin didn't protest against the loathed term. "We were fools, just like we always are … we will tell _ada_ once we get back home, alright?"   
  
Elrohir nodded weakly, and Elladan's fingers finally closed around the water skin he had placed next to him only a minute ago.   
"Drink something, Elrohir, please?" The younger twin didn't seem too inclined to comply with his brother's wish, and Elladan tried again, his voice pleading now as he held the bottle close to the other elf's lips. "Come, brother, just a little water, it will help you regain your strength so we can go on and get back home…"  
  
That prospect seemed to make sense to Elrohir, and he obediently drank some of the water Elladan offered him. The older twin took the bottle away and made a mental note to empty it before he went on; the very last thing he wanted was inadvertently drug himself. He would never survive the teasing that would follow him the rest of his life if he did.  
  
Just a few moments later Elrohir's eyes were beginning to slide shut again, a sight that filled his brother with intense worry even though he had been expecting it. The drug worked even faster than it would usually have done due to the elf's severely weakened condition, and in the matter of a minute or two the younger twin found himself on the brink of unconsciousness.  
  
Elrohir was powerless to stop his eyelids that were closing even despite his mental objections, and he sighed almost inaudibly when the pain that wrecked his body lessened.  
"Not … fair … should … known…"  
  
Elladan smiled slightly, even though the mirth did not reach his eyes as he tightened his hold on his younger brother.   
"Yes, you should have." He suppressed the guilt he felt for deceiving Elrohir like this; it had had to be done. His brother wouldn't allow him to carry him without much protesting, and the jostling it would bring would cause him far too much pain, so this was the other way.   
  
"Sleep, my brother," he added softly as Elrohir's laboured breathing finally evened out, "When you awake we will be at home, with father already waiting to lecture us and give us the _look_, the one of impending doom and pain he likes so much. All will be well, just sleep…"  
  
The older twin's voice had dropped to a soft murmur, and within a few seconds Elrohir was asleep, causing Elladan to give a great sigh of relief. All he really wanted was lie down and sleep as well, sleep until this horrible weather had passed and, if possible, wake up back home in his own bed, but he knew that this was a very unlikely – not to mention dangerous and foolish – scenario. His recollection of this particular ravine was sketchy at best, but he thought he remembered a small, steep path that led back up which should be a mile or two from here, that was if he was correct about how much ground they had already covered.  
  
Well, if he could get them to that path and, more importantly, up that path, the worst would be over. Elladan didn't even stop to contemplate how in Ilúvatar's name he should manage to carry his brother up a steep, rocky path, with this torrential rain hindering his sight and his movements and feeling the way he did right now, namely as if he had had an argument with an ill-tempered troll and lost. Not that one could have a real argument with a troll anyway, he decided as an afterthought, they were far too stupid for anything that required them to actually think.  
  
The dark haired elf lowered his twin carefully to the ground and wrapped the two cloaks a little more tightly about his shaking frame. He quickly emptied his water bottle and watched dreamily how the liquid spilled onto the ground to add to the already rather large puddle next to him. After a few moments he was ready to go on and scooped his younger brother up in his arms, turning him slightly so that his head rested against his chest and at least his face was somewhat protected from the torrential rain.  
  
Elladan gave the almost pitch-black sky a quick look, trying to judge their position, but it proved to be in vain. Thick grey clouds covered the heavens, and not even his sharp elven eyes were able to see even one star. That only served to make the despair in his heart grow stronger, and with a rather hopeless shake of his head he took the first step forwards, wobbling slightly as his ankle threatened to give out under the two elves' combined weight.  
  
It didn't get better with time as he was trying to convince himself, and a few hours later, at about midnight, his strength was beginning to desert him. He had reached the path he had been looking for about an hour ago, having moved far more slowly than he had anticipated or hoped. Elrohir's weight seemed to have doubled some time in the past few hours and yet he pressed on, trying to ignore the signals his body emitted that very clearly stated that it would collapse rather soon if he didn't stop on his own account.  
  
That, however, was the one thing Elladan could not do while he still had some strength left, and so he ignored his throbbing arm as best as he could as well as his ankle that had left the stage of throbbing behind a long time ago and was quickly reaching the stage of agonising pain. If he had needed some proof that the cut on his left arm had been poisoned, it had presented itself about an hour ago when the path in front of his eyes had begun to split in two, leaving him to guess which one was real and which one only a figment of his feverish mind.  
  
The path. Valar, he was beginning to hate it.  
  
It had clearly not been constructed to be climbed in the dark, not even by one of the firstborn, and _certainly _not by one of the firstborn who did not have the use of his hands and was carrying another person. In actual fact, it was too narrow, too steep and too stony, but Elladan wasn't prepared to let that stop him.   
  
Or, to be more precise, he hadn't been prepared to let that stop him, because right now, he didn't think that he would be able to go on. His lungs were burning, and if his vision deteriorated any more, he would be effectively blind, and he didn't think that that was such a good idea considering the terrain unless he wanted to fall down several dozen feet again, which he did not, by the way. Under no circumstances, thank you very much.  
  
Elladan stopped for a moment, cocking his head to the side which turned out to be not such a good idea since the two paths in front of his eyes began to sway dangerously at that. The young elf ignored the paths' strange behaviour and tried to concentrate, but the small sound that had alerted him wasn't to be heard again over the falling rain and the howling of the wind.   
  
After a few moments he decided that he was probably imagining things – not that that surprised him – and took another step forward, cursing under his breath when the ground crumbled under his very feet. The constant rain was beginning to wash away the earth that covered the path, leaving the sheer rocks on which navigating in this kind of weather was even harder. The darkness did little to aid him either, since there was absolutely no moon to be seen and all the light there was emanated from their elven bodies, or to be honest, from his elven body. Elrohir's light had dimmed to a very faint glow and was barely visible, and now that he thought about it, his own light should have been a lot stronger as well.  
  
Elladan doggedly continued climbing up the path, but after a few more minutes he stopped, a frown appearing on his cut face. This time he was sure he had heard it: Footsteps that were coming closer, nearing their position rather quickly. The older twin's brain needed some time to realise what that meant: Someone was coming down the path, and more than one someone at that. He wasn't sure how many, but the one thing he was sure about was that it were no elves. He wasn't able to discern more, so it could have been everything from hobbits to orcs to men to cave trolls to various other things, most of them sounding not so good at the moment.  
  
Elrond's older son looked about him with wild, desperate eyes, knowing full well that he was not up for a fight. Elrohir wouldn't wake for a long time since he had put all of the root into the water, and there seemed to be no way of escape; no small cave, no forest, not even a protruding rock that promised cover and shelter, and they were still at least half an hour's climb away from the ground level.  
  
The footsteps grew nearer, and an impotent, overwhelming fury began to wrap itself around Elladan's heart. If these were indeed orcs, they would both die now after all, after all what they'd already mastered and so close to their goal. It was not fair, simply not fair…  
  
Elladan squared his aching shoulders and slowly bent down to deposit his brother gently on the ground, almost falling to his knees in the process. He gave his unconscious brother a long, guilt-filled look before he straightened up again.  
  
"I am sorry, Elrohir," he whispered softly as he silently unsheathed his sword, not trusting his left arm enough to draw a bow, "It appears that we are both too late, my brother."  
  
He took a deep breath and walked forward a few paces, stopping after a few dozen yards when he reached a section of the path that was actually quite level and broad enough for two beings to stand abreast. This was the best spot for a fight he had seen in a long time, and if these beings that were closing in on them were looking for a fight, he was more than willing to give it to them. If they wanted to get to Elrohir, they would have to kill him first, and he was not going easily or without a fight.  
  
Holding his sword in front of him in a ready position, Elladan fought the grey spot that were beginning to cloud his vision and, with the patience that most of the firstborn possessed, waited. He didn't have to wait long though, for after only a minute or two even his feverish senses detected the presence of at least five beings that were nearly upon him now.  
  
A second later, six dark shadows appeared in his line of vision and split up immediately when they saw the motionless figure of the dark haired elf, four pressing themselves against the rock face on the one side of the path while the two other remained in the middle of the steep road, coming slowly closer.  
  
Elladan was trying to think of something to say, but he was fully concentrated on staying on his feet and trying to decide which ones of the twelve figures in front of him were real, and so he merely stood there, watching the others come closer with emotionless eyes.  
  
The two figures stopped a few feet from him, and try as he might, the young elf could not see who or even of what race they were; all his muddled brain could understand was that they were tall, hooded beings that were definitely not elves.  
  
The taller of the two beings lifted his head, his face still shrouded in the shadows of his hood, and cocked his head slightly to the side before he reached up and threw back his cape, exposing his head to the rain that was still pouring down on them.  
  
"Well, well, well, my friends, what have we got here?"  
  
  
  
  
  
**TBC...  
  
  
  
  
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_gwanur nín - my (twin) brother  
yén - elvish unit of time, equivalent to 144 years  
naneth - mother  
nana - mother (mummy)  
Echuio, pen-olthol - Wake up, dreaming one  
Albell delio nedh i-vôr, gwanur dithen - It is weak to hide in the darkness, little (twin) brother  
_ _Ú-bedithon ada o gûr nín - I will not tell father of your death  
Elrohir, lasto enni! Ú-'wanno awarthol nin na nír a naeth! - Elrohir, listen to me! Do not die leaving me to grief and despair!  
  
  
Yet another little A/N:_  
  
_I should probably explain a few things before I get many reviews telling me how wrong my Elvish is - which it isn't, btw, but still. So, most of you will probably know the Sindarin word for 'little', namely 'tithen'. Most people who want to say 'little brother' say 'gwador (or 'gwanur', the same principle applies)_ _tithen', which, to be frank, is wrong. It is correct that the adjective is placed behind the noun it refers to, but in that position the adjective undergoes Lenition, or Soft Mutation. Lenition causes the first letter of the adjective to change, in the case of 't' as in 'tithen' into 'd'. Try to say it, it's really easier and softer to pronounce which is the reason for the whole thing in the first place. So, according to Sindarin grammatical rules, 'little brother' means 'gwador/gwanur/muindor dithen'. Sorry about the lecture, but that's the way it is. *g*  
  
_  
  
  
**I know it's a cliffy, but see it this way: It's this story's _last_ cliffy! *g* That of course is because it's also this story's second to last chapter, but ah well, it's _something_, isn't it? Okay, so the next chapter once again wraps everything up nicely, we see a little bit more of Erestor and Glordindel, and of course Elrond who gets due opportunity to give his sons _the look_.**** It should be here on ... Thursday or Friday, more probably Friday but I'll see what I can do. Reviews, as always, might influence that decision. *g* Positively, of course.  
  
  
  
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**Additional A/N:  
  
Iverson** - *blushes* Oh, no, I've had much worse cliffies - but it's a very nice thing to say nonetheless. Thank you! I am indeed not really _trying_ to get Elladan to be confused, scared, hurt and worried at the same time, he just _is_. I swear it, all these emotions come from the characters themselves, which sounds really stupid now that I think about it, but ah well. It's true. *shrugs* Don't worry though, Elrohir won't be unconscious all the time. He's a little bit awake next chapter, and also a little in this one. Not much, but better than nothing, right? *g* Me? A gift for understatement? A little bit I guess, yes. I love understatements, really... *g* And trust me, I _wanted_ to stop there, but I don't post chapters under 12 pages. I also try to keep them shorter than 15, but that almost never works. *sighs* The characters just refuse to shut up, curse them. But don't worry: I LOVE death threats. I really do. Sorry I couldn't make it Sunday, though. Hope this is still okay!  
**Maranwe1** - LOL, I don't know whether or not Arwen ever had trouble with cliffs! By now, however, I think it's genetic or at least passed on through prolongued exposure to or contact with those with the clifffaller-gene, so there is a good chance. *g* Hmm, judging by what you describe, I think you'rew getting sick. *peers intently into her face* Are you? I wouldn't want you to get sick - but then again, loads pf people ARE getting sick right now, so... *trails off* I AM talking a lot of nonesense right about now, huh? Ah, just ignore me; everyone with a brain does anyway. *shrugs and walks off*  
**Nikara** - Oh, reviews ALWAYS cheer me up, even though I have to admit that they don't always make me update faster. I'm kinda evil that way, I know. And I totally agree: Being brought back home barely alive that many times is a bloody awful lot. The twins are stupid, I've always said it. *g*  
**Silvertoekee** - *g* Yeah, you know how twins allegedly always think the same and sustain injuries in the same places and so on? I thought I shouldn't just push one of them off the cliff - besides, I enjoy watching them suffer. *g* *gives her a huggle from her alter ego* My alter ego is very glad that _someone_ likes her. Thanks.  
**Firnsarnien** - LOL, my alter ego has taken over my body, hm? That's indeed a rather interesting idea, and it would in fact explain a lot, but ... no. *evil grin* Don't worry, I'm still me, I'm just a little ... influenced by my dear alter ego. That's all. *creepy, alter-ego-style grin* See? Nothing to worry about... The whole thing reminds me of the body snatchers, mind you...*g* And of course my alter ego's mean, but that still doesn't mean I can jsut kick her around. That would be ... mean?  
**Firniswin** - Great you enjoyed the angst. Elladan, Elrohir & Co. somehow didn't seem to, I don't know why either ... they're just weird, I guess... *g* And to be honest, yes, I am thinking about becoming a writer. I would love to, but if I really should become one, I would definitely not write Fantasy. Believe it or not, I don't really like it, I'm more a thriller/action adventure/historical novel kind of person. Weird mix, I know. So, If I should ever be published it wouldn't be Fantasy, sorry.   
**Farflung** - *g* Yeah, you know that saying... 'And out of the chaos a voice spoke to me, saying: Smile and be merry, for it could get worse. And I smiled and was merry, and it did get worse. *g* That's my motto... Yup, I think Glorfindel is to be pitied, and Elrond does indeed owe him now. Staying home would be the sensible thing to do, actually, but what would we be writing about then? Hmm, now that I think about it, more than 70% of all accidents happen at home, so I MIGHT be able to think of something... *g* I am glad you're enjoying this so much, thanks for the review!  
**Suzi9** - Okay, I'm gonna ask. I know that, strictly speaking, it's none of my business, but: What has this person instructed you in? Knife fighting? Mugging for beginners? Advanced cooking techniques? How did you manage to get a bloody knife stuck into your arm?? And somehow I always thought you were English, what are you then, Welsh or Scottish or something? That would at least explain the non-English-speaking village - hmm, not really but still... Be that as it may, I'm not really intent on hurting Elrohir, really. This was Kaeera's idea, more or less, so it's she who likes our dear elven twin half-dead and so on. I am innocent, at least this time. *g* Hmm, a how Legolas and Aragorn meet story... I could do that, sometime. When I have a little time, in between stories; I'll think about it. Okay? And please, keep Drákon away from the lembas. A dragon without teeth is not really that intimidating, now is he? Well, I hope your arm is better! *huggles*  
**Firegirl353** - Well, technically speaking, Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen aren't half-elves or quarter-elves. Since Elrond is 9/16 elf, 3/8 man and 1/16 Maia and Celebrían a full elf, they're *takes deep breath* 25/32 elf, 1/32 Maia and 3/16 man. Half-elf is just a title, meaning that they're able to chose to which people they want to belong to (I guess chosing Maia is out of the picture since their heritage is so small). *re-reads sentence* It wasn't supposed to be a lecture, sorry. I guess you knew that anyway. And don't tempt me, there's still a lot MORE pain and angst I can put them through... *evil grin* From everything I've heard, elven horses are indeed very loyal to their masters and vice versa. Real horses are dumb, just like my sister's which is also very evil. I swear it, it hates me and would gladly see me dead. In fact, I based Rashwe on her horse; the two of them are so much alike that it's almost scary. *g* This is set about three hundred years before Aragorn's birth (III, 2931), in III, 2642. *huggles* Thanks for the long review!  
**CrazyLOTRfan** - Great I could make you happy, even though we didn't really disciover what happened to Elrohir. Ah well, better than nothing, right... I've always wanted to thank you for all your reviews, so I guess I could just as well do it here. So: Thank you! *huggles* Okay, done.  
**Christine** - Of course the twins run away when they see you coming! *shakes head* You have to wait behind a large tree and strike when they least expect it! Surprise them! They mustn't see you before it's too late! *g* Try it that way, that might just work... Thanks for the review!  
**Prince Tyler Briefs** - I guess they have worse luck than everyone else - with the possible exception of Aragorn and Legolas, of course. *g* And see? I posted Monday? This is Monday, right? Right? *runs off to check the calendar* Phew, it is. You had me worried there for a moment. *g*  
**Jazmin3 Firewing** - So, I hope that was a good reason. It's quite hard to explain, but it's YOUR story, so to speak, so you'll have to use your imagination. Sorry I can't really explain it in a way you can all understand. *sighs* I'm a cretin. And what about I bring Stan with me next post? So when you review you can bring Finarfen and they can have some fun! Yay them! *g*  
**Mystic Girl1** - Na, wenn du DAS kurz nennst... *g* Ich hoffe, deinen Oehrchen geht es besser? Denn mit Mittelohrentzuendung Geburtstag feiern kann einfach nur unlustig sein... Also Gute Besserung! Andererseits, so kannst du doch zu Hause bleiben, oder? Und das mit den Knochenbruechen war eigentlich gar nicht meine Idee! Ich mein, ja, es WAR meine Idee, aber es war Kaeeras darueber zu schreiben. ICH wollte das gar nicht und wasche damit meine Haende in Unschuld... *g* Hmm, und du muss immer bedenken, dass man Dinge auch _runter_ bekommen kann. Das kann manchmal ein bisschen einfacher sein... LOL, Rettungskommando Glorfindel-Erestor KG? Rettungseinheit der Dúnedain GmbH? Sag mal, was fuer Schmerzmittel nimmst du eigentlich?? *g* Zu starke anscheinend... Die entflohenen Verrrueckten Vier? Ich glaube doch ganz stark, dass du Probleme hast... *g* Also, ich hoffe, den Ohren gehst es besser, danke fuer die 'kurze' Review!  
  
**Thanks again to all of you, I am right now busy finding a good DVD Ripper and am in the process of despairing. *shakes head* Very frustrating. I really want one which produces output files with a size of more than two inches, which appears to be impossible. *sighs* Bloody computer.**  
  
  
  
  



	5. Small Steps

**Disclaimer:** For full disclaimer, please see chapter 1.  
  
  
**A/N:  
  
And here it finally is, the last chapter of this little story. I would once again like to apologise that it took so long; it was my phone company's fault, honestly. I especially hope that Kaeera isn't too cross with me (*pleading look at Kaeera*) because I needed nearly a month to post the five little chapters of her birthday story. *shrugs* Still, the last chapter's here, which is still a little bit surprising for me. *g*  
  
Well, I absolutely agree with you: The twins have got to be among the most stubborn elves ever. They're also reckless, stupid and rather accident-prone, yes... *g* It took them long enough to understand that seeking revenge at all cost is going to kill them, but you have to cut them some slack. They _have_ understood it after all, haven't they?   
  
Once again, it's nice to hear that you liked the Erestor-Glorfindel scenes, and as promised there is a little one in this chapter. It truly is only a little one, but better than nothing, right?   
  
I have just realised that I'm babbling unimportant nonsense, so I'll shut up now. *readers cheer* Okay, _fine_. I get it. *goes off to sulk a little*  
  
  
*g* Very well, be that as it may, there's still one chapter to go, in which we see who our mysterious people from the last cliffy are, Elladan and said people have a little discussion and more, we have lots of angsty conversations about hope, fate, doom and other interesting, cheerful things and Glorfindel gets his revenge. Poor Erestor, indeed. *g*  
  
Have fun and review, please!  
  
  
  
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Chapter 5  
  
  
For a few seconds, it was perfectly silent except for the sounds of the rain and the wind that still showed no signs of abating. No-one had moved an inch, and both the elf and the six beings in front of him stared at each other with wide eyes.  
  
After a few more seconds, Elladan's muddled brain connected the voice he had heard, a voice he knew should be familiar, to the face of the being in front of him, and the face to a name he knew only too well.   
  
The dark haired elf stared at the one in front of him who was beginning to frown in concern and step closer now.  
"Arahad? Is that you?"  
  
The serious countenance of the man broke into a smile that did little to hide the concern in his eyes.   
"I think so," he said, taking another step forward, not daring to come any closer since Elladan had still not lowered his blade. "And I seriously hope that no-one else is using my name for his advantage, otherwise I want him caught and shot."  
  
Elladan blinked, in vain trying to make sense of what was happening around him.  
"What are you doing here?"  
  
"I could ask the same, my friend," the ranger said, gently pressing down the sword the elven twin held. "You did not arrive earlier today, and so my father sent me out to look for the two of you. He did not want to explain to Lord Elrond that he lost his sons, something I can understand only too well." The man's grey eyes narrowed as he took in the various bandages and cuts that adorned the elf's body. "What happened to you? And where is Elladan – or is it Elrohir?"  
  
The older twin blinked again, his shoulders sagging slightly as his mind began to accept that they were safe.  
"I am Elladan; Elrohir is a little further down the path. He is hurt badly, I had to drug him a little earlier … we need to get him home to father, I am afraid he has begun to fade already…"  
  
Arahad nodded at two of his men and the rangers nearly soundlessly disappeared down the steep path. He turned back to the elf and reached out to steady him when his legs began to give out from under him.  
"So you have found trouble yet again, my lord. Please tell me how you do it!" Elladan only rolled his eyes as he reluctantly allowed the _dúnadan _to steady him, and so the man continued, looking at him with reproachful eyes. "Do you even know in how much trouble you are? Wait till both our fathers hear that you got involved with a band of twenty orcs and then fell down a cliff!"  
  
Elladan looked up in surprise, but the man merely smiled and tossed back a strand of unruly dark hair.  
"Do not look so surprised, my friend! We followed your tracks to the ravine's edge and figured that you would take this path up."  
  
The dark haired elf shook his head, grinning slightly at the two blurry, identical faces in front of him.  
"I did not fall down the cliff. That was Elrohir; I merely followed him down."  
  
Arahad returned the grin as he grabbed the more or less dry cloak one of his men handed him and wrapped it around the elf's shaking shoulders, ignoring his feeble protests.  
"Oh yes, you did, Elladan, and don't try to deny it. You may have followed your brother down onto the ledge, but you definitely fell down from there."  
  
Elladan relaxed a little bit further and drew the fabric more closely around his far too cold body.  
"It appears that the sharp eyes of the Rangers cannot be deceived." Arahad grinned and nodded, and was just about to speak when the elf remembered something. "Our horses! Did you find them? We left them in the forest; they should still be there somewhere…"  
  
"We did," the ranger tried to reassure him, knowing full well how much elves were attached to their horses. "They are waiting for us up at the path's beginning." He turned serious grey eyes on the elf, looking him up and down. "Tell me, my friend, what injuries did you and your brother sustain this time?"  
  
Elladan sighed and began to recount what had happened to them, far too exhausted not to tell the whole truth, and when he had just reached the point where he had drugged his brother the two men Arahad had sent down the path returned, carrying the still unconscious Elrohir between them. The chieftain's son reacted just in time to stop the older twin from rushing to his brother's side – which would have ended with said twin on the ground, about that the ranger was sure – and had to avert his eyes when Elladan turned and gave him a good reproduction of Lord Elrond's _look _which the man had seen often enough during the time he himself had spent in Rivendell as a young lad. Most of those times, Arahad mused, it had been the twins' fault as well.  
  
"My men will take care of him," he assured the swaying elf gently, narrowing his eyes again in a mixture of annoyance and stubbornness when he saw the rebellious glint in the other's eyes. "Trust me, my friend, he is in good hands."  
  
He knew from past experience how incredibly stubborn Lord Elrond Peredhil's sons could behave – just like the Lady Arwen whom he had met once, something he would always remember for it had been the day he had met the most beautiful and enchanting creature he had ever seen. But for all her beauty and kindness Arwen Undómiel was still just as stubborn as her brothers, even though she rarely had to display that trait since virtually no-one could refuse her anything, not that she would ask for much in the first place.   
  
Still, Arahad decided with a similarly steely glint in his own eyes, he was related to them after all, and even though the Númenórean blood grew thinner with every new generation, this was the one trait that seemed to grow even stronger in his house. There was no way that he would let himself be defeated by Lord Elladan of Imladris.  
  
Elladan's withering glare softened after a while, and he nodded reluctantly, giving Arahad a slightly sheepish smile.  
"You are right, my friend, forgive me. Still, it is imperative that he gets to a healer as soon as possible, his injuries are severe and…"  
  
"I know," the ranger interrupted him and started to steer him up the path, motioning the other three men to bring up the rear, "We have healers waiting with the rest of the men up at the beginning of the path. Father insisted that we took two with us, along with enough healing herbs and bandages to supply half the army of Gondor. When I asked him why he merely mumbled something about a 'hunting trip near the Midgewater Marshes a few dozen years ago'. You don't happen to know what he meant, do you?"  
  
Elladan smiled slightly, the constant worry for his brother as well as his own injuries finally taking their toll on him and causing his footing to become unsteady.  
"That was Aravorn's idea, not ours. Your father had a lot of foolish ideas himself when he was your age and a bit younger…"  
  
Arahad returned the smile, thinking of all the _very_ foolish things he and the twins had done when he had lived in Rivendell. He had spent a longer period than usually common there, since his mother had died in childbirth when he had still been rather young and his father had decided to send him to Lord Elrond's home earlier than had been planned. He had learned a lot in the years he had spent there, including some rather interesting Sindarin swearwords that had been unknown amongst his friends and kin until then.  
  
Next to him, the exhausted elf lost his footing on a particularly rocky part of the winding path, and he quickly grabbed his arm to steady him. To his surprise – and his men's alarm, since they very nearly drew their weapons – Elladan barely suppressed a choked cry and wrenched his arm out of the man's grasp, his face paling even more. Arahad quickly signalled his men that everything was well and turned back to the elf, halting him in his tracks when he wanted to continue after the men who were carrying his brother.  
  
"What happened here, Elladan?" he asked, suspiciously. "Were you wounded in the fight?"  
  
Elladan didn't answer for a little as he battled the pain that seemed to spread into his entire body with every quick beat of his heart, and to his shame he felt that the last of his strength was finally beginning to desert him. He felt his legs grow weak and give way, but before his body hit the ground, Arahad and another of his men had sprung forward and caught him, displaying reflexes that were befitting their kind.  
  
"Elladan? Elladan!!" Arahad's worried voice seemed to come from far away, barely penetrating the fog that seemed to have enveloped his body and mind. He felt calloused fingers unwrap the bandage he had slung around his left arm earlier today, and rain and cold air touched the gash that ran from above his elbow down to his wrist and burned like fire now, and even through the dark haze of near-unconsciousness he heard the shocked hiss either Arahad or the other ranger couldn't hold back.  
  
"Eru, what is this?" the chieftain's son asked, staring at the barely conscious elf he held upright. "What did happen here, my friend? Elladan!" He called his friend's name again, shaking him slightly and giving a sigh of relief when fever-bright grey eyes finally opened. "How did this happen? What is this?"  
  
Elladan's face twisted into a wry grimace, and he did his best to answer coherently, something that was becoming harder and harder by the second. He looked down at the red, clearly infected cut with an expression of loathing and disdain.  
"Oh, this… This is the cut I received from an obviously poisoned orc scimitar which could not be treated because we had only enough athelas for one person." The elf's eyes slowly closed again, and he added with a small smile, "Did I … not mention it?"  
  
Arahad shook his head, a voice in his head telling him that neither he nor any of his descendants or ancestors could ever be or have been this bad. It was simply not possible.  
"No, Elladan," he answered in a tired sigh, "You did not mention that little detail."  
  
The elven twin did not answer, something that only served to increase the _dúnedain's _worry, and so the men quickly took up the nearly unconscious body of the older twin and hurried after their companions, intent on reaching their small camp as soon as possible.  
  
While Arahad made his way up the stony path, doing his best not to fall down on the slippery ground beneath his feet, he gave Elladan another worried look, noting with concern how feverish the elf looked.  
  
Well, he decided inwardly, one thing was sure: He would not be present when these two got back to Imladris. He had seen enough of Lord Elrond's _look _to last him a lifetime, thank you very much.  
  
  
  
  
When Elladan awoke, the first thing he felt was enormous confusion, mainly originating from the fact that he couldn't remember going to sleep.  
  
The last thing he could remember was stumbling up the path and Arahad's pleas for him to stay awake, and then … nothing. He must have lost consciousness sometime after that, he decided after a few moments as he slowly opened his eyes that shouldn't be closed in the fist place.  
  
Bright light assaulted his eyes, and with a moan he closed his eyelids again, cursing inwardly. Very well then, opening his eyes wasn't that good an idea, so he would have to rely on his other senses. The first thing he noticed was that he was in a human camp, not an elvish one, even though the men seemed to move as quietly and stealthily as possible for their race. That probably meant that he was in the rangers' camp Arahad had spoken about yesterday, he seemed to remember something like that. The information hadn't seemed so very important then, because he had been worried … about something, or someone…  
  
Only a second later he remembered what had happened, and, ignoring his body's whispered threats, he bolted upright, forcing his eyelids to open again.  
"Elrohir!"  
  
He had already sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the narrow pallet he had been lying on when his head exploded, followed by his arm, his ankle and the rest of his body. After a few seconds, when the pain had died down to more or less bearable levels, Elladan opened his eyes again, fully expecting to see different parts of his body adorn the interior of the small tent he was occupying.  
  
Instead of body parts, however, he saw a small room that was barely big enough for the two pallets that had been crammed into it. Elladan's heart skipped a beat when he saw who occupied the second bed, and he carefully sat up and moved over to his brother's side who was lying about a foot away from his own pallet, grabbing a blanket to protect himself from the rather cool air.  
  
The older twin all but collapsed next to Elrohir's bed, eyes fixed on his younger brother. He breathed a huge sigh of relief when he saw that, just as Arahad had promised him, he was indeed looking better. His colour had much improved and his wounds were covered with clean bandages, giving him the distinct appearance of a single, very thick roll of linen. Elladan reached out and gingerly placed his hand on his brother's bound chest, allowing the steady heartbeat that could be felt to reassure him even further.  
  
"Elrohir?" he whispered, hoping his little brother would wake up and look at him. "Elrohir? Can you wake up, _gwanur nín_?"  
  
"The answer to that, my friend, would be 'No, he can't'," a voice behind him announced, sounding rather amused, and Elladan whirled around to look in the face of Arahad, who had soundlessly entered the tent. The elven twin had to close his eyes when bright sunlight poured into the semi-dark space, causing the man to step into the tent quickly and close the front flap again.  
  
After a second, Elladan was able to open his eyes again, and he glared at the ranger, doing his best not to show how embarrassed he was at having been surprised like this.  
"You just had to sneak up on me like that, had you not, my Lord Arahad?"  
  
The man grinned, the mirth that could be seen on his bearded face lighting up his serious face.  
"I guess I had to, you are correct." He gave the older twin a mildly disapproving look. "My healers were quite adamant about you not leaving your bed for the next hours. That gash on your arm was badly infected, my friend, and we would almost have been too late. The poison had spread already from your arm to the rest of your body when we got you here, and that cracked ankle of yours is not a pretty sight either."  
  
"I am fine," Elladan dismissed the man's concerns quickly, his eyes returning to his still unconscious brother, "But what about Elrohir?"  
  
"He would be conscious hadn't you drugged him so heavily," Arahad shrugged, sitting down on the vacant pallet a few feet away from the twins. "You must have used almost a whole root of that insidious plant on him."  
  
Elladan grinned a little bit sheepishly.  
"It was one and a half roots, to be precise. I didn't expect anyone to find us in the near future, and I couldn't bear watching him in so much pain."  
  
The ranger noticed the distraught expression on the elf's face and edged a bit closer, laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder.  
"He will be fine, Elladan. His injuries are severe, yes, but you got him to us in time. With time and your father's care he will be just fine."  
  
"I pray that you are right, my friend," Elladan nodded solemnly, taking one of his brother's hand between both of his. He looked at the _dúnadan _earnestly. "Thank you, Arahad, son of Aravorn. You saved both our lives yesterday, and we are deeply in your debt and that of your father."  
  
"Think nothing of it," Arahad replied, smiling at the bruised face of the elf in front of him. "We are kin from afar, after all, and bound to help each other, are we not? And apart from the fact that there are none of the Dúnedain of the North who are brave enough to face the Lord of Rivendell and report to him the death of his sons, I am sure that you have saved me and others of my line more than once. We are not nearly even."  
  
"You are right, we are not," Elladan retorted, grey eyes fixing on those of his long-distant cousin, "But one day we will find a way to repay you or one of your line for your kindness. I will remember what you have done for me and my brother, even a thousand years from now. As I said, we are in your debt."  
  
"Then," Arahad inclined his head, knowing when to admit defeat, "you do me and my house a great honour. Thank you, Elladan, son of Elrond."  
  
Elladan simply nodded and turned his eyes back onto his brother when a sudden thought seemed to strike him.  
"Speaking of my father: Your father didn't send a messenger to Rivendell to inform him that we had not arrived, did he?"  
  
Arahad had to bite back a laugh when he looked into the nearly desperate eyes of the dark haired elf.  
"Calm yourself, my friend, he did not. But he will find out soon enough when we escort you back to Rivendell."  
  
"Who says we are returning to Rivendell?" Elladan asked quickly. "It has been far too long since we've enjoyed the hospitality of your people, and I truly believe we should not…"  
  
The elf trailed off when he saw the amusedly raised eyebrows of the ranger, and relented with a sigh.  
"You are right, he will find out. Then he will kill us, and if Glorfindel is really lucky, he will even allow him to help him."  
  
A shadow seemed to fall over the elven twin's face, and Arahad frowned, cocking his head to the side, grey eyes worried.  
"What is it, my friend? I am sure that your father and the good Lord Glorfindel will not harm you permanently, they will be far too relieved to see you more or less in one piece…" The man frowned when Elladan didn't answer, and he continued, falling into Elvish which he had learned as a boy like most of the children of the _Dúnedain_. "What is it, Elladan? It is not your father's lecture that is on your mind, is it?"  
  
Elladan looked up, startled, and gave the man a forced smile.  
"No, it is not, even though I am sure that it will be one to remember for many years to come. It is just…" The elf dropped his eyes and fiddled with the edges of the blanket, an action that was absolutely untypical for him.  
  
"It is just what?" Arahad asked.  
  
The dark haired elf raised his eyes again, the man's softly spoken, slightly accentuated Elvish words prompting him to answer.  
"It is just that I have learned and understood a great many things in the past few days. I have seen that I have spent the past _yén _in a darkness I have mainly brought upon myself, and that I have made my family suffer for it. I have been brought to see that, and I regret it. My reckless actions nearly got my brother killed, and I would have been to blame if his soul had journeyed to the Halls of Mandos. I was so close to killing him, inadvertently as it may have been."  
  
"You sought revenge," Arahad commented quietly. "That is understandable. Yet you did it at the expense of your own safety, and that was your mistake, my friend. Revenge has its time and place, yet it cannot rectify things that cannot be changed."  
  
"Aye," Elladan nodded, "I have come to see that. We cannot go on like this."  
  
The dark haired elf looked up in surprise when Arahad grabbed his arm and gave him an obviously heart-felt squeeze.  
"Finally!"   
  
Noticing the twin's questioning gaze, he explained with a small smile on his lips,   
  
"Your father was very concerned for you. He told my father to keep an eye on you and keep you from harm when it was in his power, with only mediocre success as you know. Lord Elrond claimed to have told you many times to let go of your wild hatred, but…"  
  
"…we did not listen, I know, my friend," Elladan admitted, a little bit chagrined. "You are right, he has told us many times, but we did not listen, clouded with hatred and pain as our hearts were. It took this to finally make us see reason. I really needed to see my little brother almost die in front of my eyes before realising that…"  
  
"Elladan," Arahad's stern voice interrupted him, "Stop it, please." The ranger looked at the elven twin, choosing each word with care and pronouncing it as precisely as possible. "I know that you feel guilty, but Elrohir is just as old as you are. He is very capable of making his own decisions, and you didn't choose anything for him. He did what he thought was right, as did you and your father. You made a mistake, yes, but you have seen the error of your ways and that it will help neither you nor your father or," the man hesitated slightly, "the Lady Celebrían."   
  
Arahad took a deep breath and continued, noting with relief that Elladan seemed to have taken no offence when he had spoken the name of his mother, which was definitely an improvement to his reactions in the past.  
  
"I had never the honour to meet your mother, my friend, but from what I have heard about her she was a kind and gentle lady and would not have wanted you to destroy yourself in the vain quest for revenge. Life does not always follow a straight path, Elladan, not even that of the firstborn. Sometimes you have to take a long and winding road to finally reach your goal. The only thing that matters though is that you _do _reach it. And I think you have, or," he added with a slightly humorous glint in his eyes, "are rather close to doing so. Am I not correct, my friend?"  
  
Elladan looked at the ranger for a long time and finally nodded his head, giving the man a small, but genuine smile.  
"You are, Arahad," he admitted. "More than you may realise. How is it that you, who you are a mere child compared to me, are still far wiser than I will probably ever be?"  
  
Arahad smiled ruefully and shook his head.  
"I am not wise, o my ancient friend, and I never hope to be either. And while the blood of Númenor still runs strong in my family, I fear that those were not my words either, but rather those of your father, who said them to my father a long time ago when he had nearly lost hope after my mother's death."  
  
Elladan returned the smile and grasped the man's hand to squeeze it lightly.  
"There will always be hope, my friend, for as long as one of your line draws breath. As long as the Line of the Kings remains strong and unbroken, there is hope. Hope for Men, and hope for all of us that are still here on Arda."  
  
The chieftain's son frowned, sorrow laying itself upon his strong features.  
"We are dwindling, Elladan. There are not many of us left, and the blood of the Men of Westernesse grows thinner with every generation that is born into this world. Soon there will be none of us left, and what is left of the realm of Arnor will fall into darkness. I do not want to exaggerate our importance, but often the Rangers are all that stands between the servants of the Dark One and the inhabitants of these lands. Not too far in the future we will be too few to stand up to our enemies, and slowly but surely we will fade into history. It is something that is unavoidable, I fear."  
  
"And there _you _are wrong, my friend," Elladan corrected gently and shifted slightly to take some weight off his ankle. "I do not pretend to possess my father's foresight, something for which I am rather thankful, by the way, but in my heart I know that that will not the fate of your people. I do not know if for bad or for good, but the _Dúnedain _will not end like that. Have hope, my friend, hope that, one day, the shadow will be lifted from these lands and the Rangers will be able to take the place that is rightly theirs. No darkness can last forever."  
  
Arahad smiled softly and turned to look at his elven friend.  
"Indeed it cannot, you are right. I will heed your advise then and have hope, and be it only for my children and children's children. One day the Lord of Mordor will truly fall, and I shall take comfort in the thought that you and your family will be there to see it, even if I am not."  
  
The older twin returned the smile and inclined his head.  
"That is something worth hoping for, is it not?"  
  
"It is," Arahad agreed, unconsciously reaching out to pull the edges of the blanket more tightly around the elf's shoulders. "It is indeed, my friend."  
  
The ranger fell silent for a moment before he raised his head and gave his companion a stern look.  
"But now you should get some more rest. I want to leave this place at midday, which leaves you with about four more hours to regain your strength somewhat. The athelas may have counteracted the poison in your body, but you have sustained some serious injuries except that cut. You need rest, and we wouldn't want to let your father wait, would we?"  
  
Elladan hid the terrified expression that flittered across his face at the mention of his father and finally nodded reluctantly, allowing the ranger to help him lie down again.  
  
"Do you have pressing duties to attend to?" the elven twin asked when Arahad was about to leave.  
  
The man turned back with a slightly quizzical expression on his face and eyed the elf with mild suspicion.  
"No, I do not. May I inquire why you asked?"  
  
"Well," Elladan began, propping himself up on one elbow, "If you don't have to be somewhere, then please, stay. Tell me how your family is faring, and most of all, how young Arassuil is doing. How old is he now? Seven?"  
  
Arahad had looked rather reluctant to keep the elf awake any longer, but at the mention of his young son all doubts disappeared from his face and were replaced with fatherly pride.  
"He is seven and a half. And he is wonderful!" he exclaimed, sitting down on the edge of Elladan's bed, grey eyes shining brightly. "He is…"  
  
"Perfect?" Elladan supplied with a wicked glint in his eyes. "Beautiful? Smart? Without fault?"  
  
Arahad gave him an annoyed look.  
"Just how did you know I was going to say that?"  
  
"A lucky guess, I presume," Elrond's older son shrugged innocently, suppressing a wince when his healing arm protested. "Pray, do continue."  
  
The ranger gave his friend another long look, but his enthusiasm could not be contained for long, and soon he was enumerating all the virtues and strengths Arassuil possessed, only stopping shortly to praise the beauty and wisdom of the boy's mother.  
  
Elladan leaned back into his pillows, listening to the probably slightly biased account of his newest distant cousin's character, hiding a smile while Arahad's ardent voice continued practically without stopping for an occasional breath.  
  
He held to his words; as long as the Line of Elros remained unbroken, there was hope, tiny and hidden as it might be. And somehow, deep in his heart, Elladan knew that he would truly be there when the Rangers stepped out of the twilight they had been hiding in and claimed their rightful place in this world.  
  
That was something worth hoping for, indeed.  
  
  
  
  
Glorfindel had died and instead of going to the Halls of Mandos, he had been sent into the pits of Angband, he was sure about it. The golden haired elf was firmly convinced that it had been Erestor who had brought them such bad luck, there was simply no other explanation for this … this disaster.  
  
He smiled mirthlessly, looking at the members of his small rescue party who knew better than to meet his eyes, except for Erestor of course, who just grinned at him with that particularly annoying expression plastered on his face as if someone had glued it on. "Disaster" was truly a befitting term, since virtually everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong since they had left the Last Homely House behind.  
  
First, the horse of one of the warriors had stumbled when they had crossed the Bruinen, causing the animal to throw off the elf in its sudden panic. The young warrior had struck his head on a stone – one should note that it had been the only large rock in sight – and had lost consciousness, and Glorfindel had had to sent him back with a second member of his troupe.  
  
As if that had not been enough, they had soon found out that the storm that had raged outside of Rivendell had felled rather a lot of trees, all of which seemed to have chosen to fall precisely across the path they had to take. They had only had the choices of either leaving the horses behind and continue on foot or clear the way, and he had decided in favour of the latter. It was clear that they would still be faster if they stayed and got the splintered trees out of the way than if they walked the rest of the way, besides, if he knew the twins at all, they would be closely pursued by a band of orcs of two, and he had no intention of endangering the lives of his men by ordering them to continue on foot  
  
After they had finally managed to clear a way wide enough for the horses to pass, which had been some time around midday yesterday, all had gone surprisingly well for a while, which should have been some kind of a warning, really. But Glorfindel had been too concentrated on keeping his temper in check and not killing the incredibly annoying Erestor to notice any such sign, and so they had been rather surprised when they had run into a small group of orcs in the early evening that looked as if they had been stragglers of a bigger horde.  
  
The fighting had been short, but rather messy, and several of the warriors including he himself had suffered some rather shallow and minor injuries that still needed tending for fear of poisoning. The presence of orcs had only served to fuel the worry in the golden haired elf's heart, as well as in those of his companions, and Glorfindel was seriously beginning to dread what they would find once they actually managed to locate the twins.  
  
The only positive thing about the small skirmish had been that Erestor had calmed down somewhat, even though he was continuously talking about one clever move or other he had made in the battle. They hadn't got much further that evening and had been forced to make camp halfway between Imladris and the Trollshaws, something that greatly annoyed Glorfindel since they should have covered about twice the distance.  
  
The evening hadn't proven to be much fun either. Erestor had been in good spirits and more than willing to share his mood with the rest of the company, and all of them had amused themselves with a recount of how Erestor and he had sung that particular song a few nights ago – including Erestor himself, which once again proved what Glorfindel had been suspecting for a long time: He did have no shame, at least not when he was having his adventurous time of the _yén_.  
  
That at least gave him something to think about during his watch (namely how to best avenge himself on the dark haired elf), apart of how to find out what that by now infamous _word _on Erestor's forehead had been, and he was sure that he had come up with the perfect plan now. It finally seemed that fotune was once again smiling on them, and since they had broken camp this morning everything had gone smoothly.  
  
Yes, Glorfindel mused, it was almost bearable if one ignored Erestor who was right now describing in detail what he would do to the next few orcs they met. Elrond was right, of course, Erestor was a formidable warrior, but he was beginning to drive him insane, a fact that was definitely not lost on the dark haired elf lord. Glorfindel was beginning to suspect that he acted like this on purpose, just to annoy him, and to his shame he had to admit that it was working. Another day in Erestor's company and he would snap and kill himself and/or Erestor, he was sure about it.  
  
While the blonde elf was still contemplating how exactly he would carry out that particular plan, the elf who was riding at the front reined in his horse and lifted his hand in warning.  
"Someone approaches, sir. A group on horseback, it appears."  
  
Glorfindel quickly signalled his men to stay where they were until they had ascertained who this other group was and moved his horse to the side of the warrior, noting with some annoyance that Erestor was doing the same.  
"How many are there?"  
  
The young elf squinted slightly and raised himself on his horse to have a better view.  
"About fifteen, I would say." After a moment he relaxed and smiled, turning around to face his captain. "I cannot speak for the main group, but I recognise the vanguard. They're rangers, my lord."  
  
"Rangers?" Erestor's voice interrupted Glorfindel before he could even open his mouth. The dark haired advisor sounded rather disappointed. "No orcs?"  
  
The young warrior tried in vain to keep his face emotionless but a small smile escaped him nonetheless.  
"No, my lord. They are rangers, I am sure about it."  
  
"Oh. Well, that is not to be changed, then," Erestor sighed, looking very much as if he had rather fought a band of orcs plus wargs than to converse civilly with a troupe of rangers.  
  
Glorfindel blinked twice and quickly made an attempt to regain control of the conversation.  
"They are probably looking for the twins as well. Something must truly have happened to them; Aravorn would have sent out search parties if they didn't arrive on time. He knows them long enough, after all."  
  
"I agree, my lord," the warrior nodded. "Lord Aravorn knows very well how much trouble the both of them can get into. I do seem to remember the one hunting trip they went onto when he was a mere lad…"  
  
"…the one near the Midgewater Marshes! Oh yes, I remember," Erestor grinned, giving the younger elf a conspiratorial smile. "By Elbereth's stars, never before have I seen Lord Elrond so angry – although that might change when we get back…"  
  
"Then we shouldn't let them wait," Glorfindel interrupted with a dark look at the two younger elves.   
  
He turned to Erestor, who was once again wearing that infuriating grin. The golden haired elf gritted his teeth and slowly counted to ten. 'Do not kill him, think of what Elrond would say, do not kill him, think of what Elrond would say, do not kill him, think of what Elrond would say…'  
  
"Would you accompany me, my Lord Erestor? We should greet our allies," he asked the other elf, giving him a pointed look that promised pain and torment should he refuse. There was the small chance that he would somehow be able to keep an eye on Erestor when he kept him close. A very small chance, granted, but definitely worth the try. There was no reason to let him scare the rangers into an early grave, after all.  
  
To his surprise, Erestor simply nodded and followed him when he spurred on his horse, and so they quickly closed the distance between them and the approaching humans, Glorfindel and Erestor at the front and closely followed by their warrior. The rangers, although keen of senses, detected their presence a lot later, but they too quickly saw that the other group was no threat to them and they finally met some minutes later, both groups bringing their horses to a halt.  
  
Glorfindel bowed his head and smiled at the ranger that rode in front of the little group, honestly glad to see him again.  
"Lord Arahad. It is a pleasure to see you, as always."  
  
"I, too, am most glad to see you, Lord Glorfindel, Lord Erestor," the chieftain's son nodded, doing an admirable job at hiding his surprise upon seeing Elrond's chief councillor outside out Rivendell.   
  
Arahad gave the small group of elven warriors a wry look and asked,  
  
"Let me guess, my friend. You are looking for the Lords Elladan and Elrohir who have once again managed to get themselves into trouble."  
  
Glorfindel's eyes open as wide as possible, nothing but surprise on his fair face.  
"Tell me, my lord," he cried in mock astonishment, "How did you know that? I know that many of your house possess the gift of foresight, but this assessment is astounding!"  
  
Once again, Glorfindel had to give the _dúnadan _credit for his control, for Arahad managed to let only a faint smile show on his face.  
"I don't know, my lord, it must have been a lucky guess." He paused shortly, grey eyes glinting in a way that reminded the elf lord disconcertingly of the twins. "On the other hand, it might also be connected to the fact that we have found something that belongs to you."  
  
"I resent that implication," a voice from the back of the group sounded darkly. "We are not 'something', and it's not that we asked to be 'found', either. And we hardly 'belong' to anyone."  
  
Glorfindel's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, and he was beginning to suspect that all of Arda was right now doing nothing but trying to surprise him. In front of him, the rangers parted to let a horse pass, a horse which he knew all too well, bearing two elves he also knew all too well.  
  
"Elladan?" he asked incredulously. He remembered just in time that they were not alone and he therefore couldn't do what he wanted to do most, namely first hug the twins and then kill them, and added, "Are you alright, my lord? What happened to you?"  
  
The younger elf had at least the good grace to look ashamed and unconsciously tightened his hold on his brother who was sitting in front of him, still unconscious.  
"Well…"  
  
"Yes?" Erestor prompted, all exuberance gone from his face and all of the sudden transforming back into the stern scholar every elf in Imladris under the age of three thousand years had learned to fear.   
  
"Well…" Elladan repeated, looking desperately about him, but it seemed that every single ranger, including Arahad, was far too busy staring into empty space to notice his distress. Elrohir was not likely to wake up right now, which was a good thing as well, and the elven warriors that accompanied Glorfindel were far too amused by all this to be of any real help. The elf gave an inward low growl of annoyance. Traitors, the whole lot of them.  
  
"We … had … an accident," he finally managed to say with a fake look of innocence plastered on his face. "Involving … orcs and a cliff."  
  
Unknowingly, both Erestor and Glorfindel folded their arms and raised an eyebrow, a sight that awoke in Elladan the prominent urge to turn his horse around and get back to that cliff. Everything was better than this.  
  
"Did you now, young one?" Glorfindel's eyebrow arched in almost exactly the same way as Elrond's would have had he been here, and that was almost enough to send Elladan into a hysteric fit.   
  
The dark haired elf stared at Arahad with wide eyes, willing him to help him, and finally, when the ranger had decided that he had tormented his elven friend enough, he turned to the elf lords, trying very hard to wipe a wide grin off his face.  
  
"They are both very lucky to be alive," Arahad said seriously, causing both elves to redirect their attention to him. "We found them yesterday night in the ravine near the Trollshaws. Lord Elrohir will be unconscious for quite some time yet, but his injuries are not life-threatening anymore. He is stable as far as we can tell, and once you get back to Rivendell, he will be fine, my healers have assured me, as will Lord Elladan."   
  
Glorfindel took a deep breath and gave Elladan a last look that promised a lot of serious repercussions.  
"Then we owe you our thanks, my lord," he nodded respectfully. "Please give our regards and gratitude to your father who was so far sighted to send out search parties at once. We are in your debt once more."  
  
Arahad shook his head and gave the golden haired elf a smile.  
"You are not, my lord, as I have already assured Lord Elladan. This does not even rudimentary even the scores; it is we who are eternally indebted to you." Elladan took this as a sign and began to move his horse forward, and he added, "Please give our regards to your lord as well, and I would be most grateful if you stressed that, this time, I had nothing to do with all this."  
  
The blonde elf returned the smile.  
"Of course, my Lord Arahad. I am sure Lord Elrond will be very pleased to hear that."  
  
He and Erestor were beginning to turn their horses around, ready to head back to Rivendell, and Elladan stopped for a second, inclining his head to the chieftain's son.  
"I thank you once again, my friend. For saving our lives, and for … everything else."  
  
"'Twas my pleasure," Arahad smiled, grey eyes serious in his face. "I thank you as well, for giving me back the hope into our future I had already thought lost."  
  
"It wasn't lost," Elladan shook his head. "You just needed some help to find it, that was all."  
  
"As did you," the ranger nodded earnestly. "I trust I will still see you again soon?"  
  
"You will," Elladan assured him. "Perhaps in the spring, when the snow is melted. Sometime after Winter Solstice, I think. Maybe later."  
  
Arahad's smile widened when he took in the underlying implications of the dark haired elf's words.  
"I am glad to hear that, my friend. I truly am."  
  
The older twin returned the smile and gave a slight bow.  
"Namárië, Arahad, son of Aravorn."  
  
Arahad bowed as well.  
"Namárië, Elladan, son of Elrond. May the Valar smile upon you and all of your house until we see each other again."  
  
"And upon yours," Elladan retorted, and with a last smile he turned his horse, following the other elves that had already ridden on, making sure with a glance that Elrohir's riderless horse was following as well.  
  
The group of elven warriors was silent for the first few miles, and Elladan knew better than to try and start a conversation with Glorfindel who was exuding disapproval so clearly that one could have reached out and grasped it. Nothing was spoken except questions regarding their respective states of health and whether they would be strong enough for the ride home, which Elladan assured the others they were. After an hour though, Erestor wasn't able to remain silent any longer and slowed his horse's gait until he was next to the twins' horse.  
  
"You fought a group of orcs, is that not correct?"  
  
Elladan looked up sharply at the question, resisting the urge to rub the gash on his arm.  
"Yes, we did. But…"  
  
Erestor brushed the words aside with an impatient wave of his hand, eyes shining brightly in his face.  
"As did we. I think they were some stragglers of a bigger group – probably yours – and we got involved in a small skirmish. Did you hear about that one move I made?"  
  
Elladan gulped, his eyes narrowing slightly when a small snicker could be heard from the end of the column. He too knew what Erestor was like when he was having his adventurous part of the _yén_.  
"No, Erestor," he sighed in weary acceptance. "I did not. But I am sure that you will…"  
  
"…enlighten you. Most gladly, my young friend!" the older elf exclaimed, and without giving Elladan the chance to object he launched into the tale of how they – and most remarkably he, of course – had fought the orcs.  
  
Further ahead, Glorfindel didn't even try to hide the broad grin that was spreading on his face and that was mirrored by every single member of the small troupe. This was even better than any punishment he could have come up with, he decided, the grin impossibly even widening. After a few hours Elladan would surely contemplate hiding in his room and never come near an orc again, not if that meant he had to endure something like this.  
  
And that, Glorfindel thought grimly, was exactly how it should be.  
  
  
  
  
Elrohir awoke to the sound of loudly chirping birds, proving to him that he was indeed back home, just as Elladan had promised him. He knew that particular chirping very well; to him it seemed that the birds around his home delighted in waiting in the tree next to his window to start singing loudly and annoyingly every time he tried to get some rest.  
  
For some time, Elrohir was too sleepy, warm and contend to open his eyes, a fact that proved to him yet another thing: He was not well, or his eyes wouldn't be closed. There was of course always the possibility of drugs, poison or extreme exhaustion, all things which couldn't apply to his situation.   
  
A small voice in his head started laughing mockingly at that, and Elrohir frowned inwardly, trying to think of his last memories. It took him some time to remember what had been the last thing he knew since he had woken up at the bottom of the accursed cliff, but when he did remember, it served to encourage him to open his eyes more than anything he could have thought of.  
  
After some more moments, he did indeed manage to pry the closed lids open, and when his surroundings had finally swum into focus, he stared into the smiling, far too happy-looking face of Glorfindel. Behind the blonde elf, Elrohir could see a part of the room he was residing in, and after a moment he identified it as his own. He gave a quiet sigh of relief. So he was truly back at home.  
  
"Welcome back, Elrohir," the slightly blurry face of his father's advisor said. "You did give us quite a scare, young one."  
  
Elrohir felt how tiredness once again threatened to overcome his senses, but then he remembered his self-appointed mission and all desire to sleep was suddenly gone.  
"Elladan … where is … he?" he managed to croak, surprised at how weak his voice sounded.  
  
Glorfindel didn't answer, and his face suddenly disappeared from the younger elf's line of vision, causing him to blink in confusion. Before his muddled and tired brain could even start thinking about where it had gone, the blonde elf's face reappeared, and one of the other's hands appeared in his line of vision, holding a glass of what looked like the most beautiful, clearest water Elrohir had ever seen.  
  
Elrohir accepted the older elf's help and let himself be propped up to be able to drink some of the deliciously cool liquid, and was amazed how much better he felt when he had quenched his thirst.  
  
"Where is my brother, Glorfindel?" he repeated his question when the blonde elf helped him lie down again. "Elladan, he…"  
  
"Hush, young one," Glorfindel commanded sternly. "Do not worry. Your brother is well; the healer has just left to find him and your father. Arahad and his men found both of you and met with my search party that was looking for you as well. You have been unconscious for much more than a day now, and your father was beginning to get worried, as did all of us."  
  
Elrohir's eyes narrowed as he took in all the information.  
"Oh," he said softly, looking about him, "I see. But you are mistaken, my friend: I was not worried about that little orc. You don't happen to have a knife on you, do you?"  
  
Glorfindel's blue eyes widened at the sudden change of topic, and a suspicious expression stole over his features.  
"I do not. Why?"  
  
"A pity," Elrohir commented, still looking for a suitable weapon with which to take his revenge on his brother for drugging him. "As I said, I was not worried. I want to kill him, so could you please get me a weapon with which I can accomplish that goal?"  
  
"On any other day, I would," Glorfindel retorted, leaving it to Elrohir to determine if he was being serious or not. "But your father's instructions were more than unambiguous. He said nothing about killing your brother, but I think that falls under the category of 'leaving your bed', which is strictly prohibited, of course."  
  
"Of course," the younger twin muttered downheartedly. "It would be, wouldn't it?"  
  
"And I am more than entitled to it," a wry voice behind them announced. "On second thought, it even might be well within my rights to kill both of you for this."  
  
Elrohir's head swivelled to the right – his skull seizing this chance to inform him of what exactly it thought about that – and he looked at the tall figure of his father who stood in the doorway of the room, Elladan to his right and a she-elf who had to be the healer Glorfindel had spoken of to his left. Elrohir knew he should probably know the healer's name, but then again, he tried to stay away from the healing wing and its inhabitants as much as possible.  
  
"_Ada!"_ he exclaimed, his joy upon seeing his father a little bit dimmed by what he knew was to come. There was no way they were getting out of this without a lecture they would remember for a very long time.  
  
When he heard his younger son's voice Elrond's stern face softened a little, and he politely dismissed the healer with a few words. The Lord of Rivendell stepped into the room, followed by a heavily limping Elladan who was doing his best to look innocent. Elrohir would almost have laughed aloud, and it would have been a cynical laugh. A man or elf standing over a dead body and holding a bloody knife in his hands would have appeared more innocent than his dear twin brother.  
  
His thoughts returned to the present when he felt his bed sink a bit, and he looked up to see his father sit on the edge of the mattress, looking at him with that particular expression he always wore when one or both of them had done something terribly stupid.  
"You scared us, Elrohir. From what Elladan told us, you very nearly died."  
  
Elrohir shortly looked over his father's shoulder to glare at his older brother. Yet another thing he had to thank him for; now he would be mothered by his father and probably all the healers that managed to get their hands on him. Yes, Elladan was dead, he just needed a dagger and then…  
  
"I am sorry, _ada_," he said, turning what he hoped were innocent grey eyes on his father, "It was an accident, really. We merely missed that last orc, and I had forgotten how close I had got to the cliff. It was nothing but carelessness on my part," the young elf admitted softly, turning his eyes onto the bulk he knew was his thickly bound broken leg under the blankets. "But it was not my fault I was unconscious for that long!"  
  
"No," Elrond agreed, an odd twinkle in his eyes, "It was not. It was your brother's, and you can be assured that he and I had had a long, very serious conversation about that."  
  
Behind his father, Elladan winced openly. Oh yes, it had been a _very _long conversation, one he wouldn't want to repeat in the near future. Or better yet, not ever. Their father had been too busy caring for Elrohir when they had arrived the previous night, but after the excitement had died down a bit and it had been established that Elrohir hadn't suffered any internal injuries and would indeed be fine, he had taken Elladan aside and lectured him for two hours straight. The older twin had been feeling so guilty that he had agreed that he deserved it, but that hadn't made it one bit more enjoyable.  
  
"Both of you were exceedingly lucky," Elrond continued, dividing his _look _between both of his sons. "I shudder to think of what might have happened."  
  
Now both twins hung their heads. Their father was right; they had been stupid, reckless and about a thousand other things in between, and hadn't stopped once to think about what consequences their injury or death would have had on their family.  
  
"_Ada_, I…" Elladan began, but was cut off when a shout rang out that vaguely sounded like the roaring of a very big, very angry and very wounded warg.  
  
Elrond and the twins looked at each other questioningly, not very alarmed by the shouting since such things happened quite a lot around here, but Glorfindel merely raised an eyebrow and gave the bright sky outside a quizzical look.  
  
"That was sooner than I expected…" the golden haired elf muttered, a puzzled frown marring his forehead.  
  
"Glorfindel?" Elrond questioned, raising both eyebrows. "Would you care to explain yourself? And was that Erestor's voice?"  
  
Glorfindel smoothly stood to his feet and made his way over to the door, listening to the ranting and rather interesting curses that could be heard from the hallway.  
"Yes, my lord, that was Erestor. He thought he could best me, but…" He shrugged sadly. "Alas, he was not quick enough, I fear. Nobody humiliates me and goes unpunished." He gave the three speechless elves a respectful bow. "Now, my lords, I must depart, I fear. I have no desire to visit the Halls of Waiting again, and I think the dear Erestor sounds rather … upset."  
  
He was about to leave the room when his lord's sharp voice stopped him in his tracks.   
"Glorfindel! What did you do to him?"  
  
The blonde elf turned in the doorway, a lenient smile on his lips.  
"Trust me, _mellon nín_, you do not want to know. But rest assured that it is nothing … permanent."  
  
With that rather cryptic remark he turned and disappeared out of the door, leaving three bewildered elves behind. Elladan was the first to regain the ability to speak, and he raised a hand, pointing at the spot recently vacated by the fair haired elf.  
  
"_That _is what happens when you allow an elf to slay a balrog. Our dear Glorfindel is beginning to suffer delusions of grandeur, I'm afraid."  
  
"The problem is though," Elrohir injected sourly, "that most of them are merited. Which makes the whole thing even more unbearable, of course." He stopped shortly, relaxing even further into his pillows. "I wonder what exactly he has done to him."  
  
"Oh, we will find out," Elrond predicted darkly, cocking his head slightly to the side when a loud crash and the sound of running feet could be heard over Erestor's ranting voice. "If the Last Homely House still stands in a few hours, that is."  
  
The dark haired elf lord turned back to his two sons, his face turning serious again.  
"You will be staying here for a while, I assume?"  
  
It had been a simple question, but the underlying meaning was clear enough to both of the younger elves. The twins shortly looked at each other, their eyes only meeting for a short time, yet it was enough to convey what they thought to each other. After a few seconds, both nodded, and Elrohir weakly reached for his father's hand, squeezing it lightly when the older elf took his fingers into both of his hands.  
  
"Yes, _ada_," the younger twin said quietly. "We will stay for the winter, at least until Winter Solstice. We…" Elrohir took a deep breath and reluctantly raised his eyes to meet his father's gaze. "We are sorry, father. We should have listened to you a long time ago. We were…"  
  
"…fools. Stupid, reckless fools," Elladan finished his brother's sentence. "You were right, and so were Legolas, Erestor and so many others. Glorfindel said it only a few days ago: This will not bring her back, and she would not have wanted us to die for things that cannot be changed." The young elf looked at his father imploringly. "Forgive us, please. We did not intend to hurt you or Arwen."  
  
Elrond looked from one identical, serious face to the other, fighting hard for composure. He felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from his heart, and he hadn't even realised how much he had suffered under the constant threat of losing his sons to the hatred and anger that was eating at their souls.   
  
"All is forgiven, my sons," he said, reaching out to take one of Elladan's hands as well. "You cannot imagine how glad I am to hear you say these words, and I know that you never intended to hurt me or your sister. I am very proud of both of you, and I know that your mother would be as well." He looked at the younger elves seriously. "I do not expect you to forget what has happened, but I am glad to hear that you understand that your actions of late will help none of us." The twins nodded silently, and he added, "As you said, Glorfindel can be very wise indeed when he is not busy writing words on other elves' foreheads. It was he who reminded me a few days ago that your mother is waiting for us, and he is right, of course. We must never forget that we will see her again, no matter how long it will take. That is the only thing that truly matters."  
  
Elladan and Elrohir looked at each other, slowly comprehending what their father was trying to tell them, and Elrond added, his voice light,  
  
"That is, of course, unless you insist on dragging yourselves back here with arrows splintering broken legs, poisoned wounds and things of the like."  
  
The Lord of Rivendell watched with some fascination how Elladan's face turned an interesting, bright red colour, while Elrohir slowly sat up, trying to hide a wince when his ribcage protested and grey eyes narrowing at his father's words.  
"Poisoned wounds?" he asked and turned to his twin, accusation shining brightly in his eyes. "You promised me that the cut was not poisoned! First you lie to me and then you drug me??"  
  
"I did not lie to you," Elladan tried to defend himself, carefully sitting down in the chair Glorfindel had sat on not too long ago, his bandaged ankle stretched out in front of him. "At that time I truly believed it was not infected."  
  
Elrohir did not seem to have heard a single word his twin had said, his eyes widening in outrage when he finally realised what his father had said.  
"'Arrows splintering broken legs'? 'Arrows splintering broken legs'?? You used my _arrows _to splint my leg??"  
  
Elladan quickly raised his hands, all of the sudden very glad that his father was between the two of them.  
"There was nothing else! What should I have done instead, let it be?"  
  
"What about using _your _arrows?" Elrohir shot back, eyes sparkling. "That is your problem, brother, you have no respect for the property of others!"  
  
Elladan's eyes opened wide in mock outrage.  
"I can't believe that is coming out of your mouth! I do not have respect for the property of others? _I_?"   
  
"Who else, my brother? It was always like this, surely I do not need to remind you of…"  
  
After a few minutes of listening to his sons' bickering, Elrond silently rose to his feet and retreated. He hadn't even realised how much he had missed this; his children had really been much too solemn of late!   
The twins were entirely too focused on their argument to pay his soft footsteps or the swishing sounds produced by his robes when they moved across the stone floor any attention, and so he stopped at the door, watching the two younger elves.  
  
He knew that Elladan knew better than to overstrain his brother; if there was even the tiniest sign that Elrohir was exhausted, the older twin wouldn't rest until he had gone to sleep. There was no real need for him to remain here, but still he stayed, looking at his sons who had once again so narrowly escaped death. Had it not been for Arahad and his men, both of them would probably have died. Elrohir would most certainly have died, and Elrond knew very well what the death of one would do to the other…  
  
The elf lord shook his head slightly. It had not happened, and it didn't help agonising over things that could not be changed. Elrond smiled; that was indeed something that the twins had understood as well, at last. He was aware that these had been only the first small steps into the direction of true healing, and he knew that the wounds both of them carried in their hearts would never truly heal, as little as his own would. They would always miss their mother and, in the dark hours of the night, they would always ask themselves if they couldn't have been faster, or couldn't have fought harder to protect her, just as he himself did, but they were beginning to accept what had happened. Their hatred for the orcs would never die or even diminish, but Elrond was hopeful that they were no longer willing to sacrifice anything and everything to satisfy that hate.  
  
It was indeed true that, sometimes, hope was all one had left, the Lord of Imladris mused as he soundlessly left the room, leaving his sons behind who were right now arguing about who had taken whose toy soldiers when they had been elflings of twenty-three years of age. And sometimes, hope was even enough and all that mattered.  
  
Smiling softly, Elrond began to make his way into the direction of the Hall of Fire where the voices of Erestor and Glorfindel could be heard. His chief advisor had apparently managed to corner the other elf, and was now loudly threatening him with disembowelment. He shook his head; he was _really _not looking forward to finding out what Glorfindel had done to Erestor, but he should probably end this before the dark haired elf carried out some of his threats.  
  
Elrond moved down the hallway, the laughing voices of his sons fading away behind him, and slowed down to watch the sun rise higher above the graceful trees that surrounded his home. He stopped at an open window to watch the radiant disk make their way across the heavens, and when he resumed his walk, it seemed to him that some of the darkness that had lingered in these fair halls had disappeared, never to return. It would never fully leave them, no, but it was a start.  
  
But he was left to hope, that, one day, it might diminish even further, and now it seemed to him that he had all the time in the world, and that the horizon was bright with countless possibilities.  
  
  
  
  
  
**THE END  
  
  
  
  
  
** _dúnadan (sg.) - 'Man of the West', ranger_  
_dúnedain (pl.) - 'Men of the West', rangers  
gwanur nín - my (twin) brother  
yén - elvish unit of time, equivalent to 144 years_  
_ada - father (daddy)  
mellon nín - my friend_  
  
  
  
  
**I know that many people would have liked me to put Aragorn into it at some point, but this was the twins' story. They really deserved one of their own, I think. I am also aware that you guys want to know what _the word _is or what Glorfindel did to Erestor, but all I can tell you that I might put it into my current story, "To Walk In Night". I'm not sure about it yet, but I might.   
  
So, I hope you have enjoyed reading this little story as much as I have enjoyed writing it. I wasn't all that happy about it at the beginning, but I admit that I grew on me and that I'm now rather fond of it. Plus, it proves that I _am_ able to write stories that are less than 300 pages long, so that's definitely something, right?  
  
Once again, special thank-you's to Kaeera, who convinced me to write this story in the first place, to my sister as always for her encouragement and her unearthly ability to come up with the most gruesome injuries, and finally to my reviewers. Even though the story was already finished when I began posting, you supported and helped me a lot - thanks again! *huggles*  
  
So, see you around, I guess!  
  
  
  
Nili **  
  
  
  


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**Additional A/N:  
  
FarFlung** - LOL, you're right. Things got worse, but at least they're together. *g* I admit it though, the chapter wasn't really ... cheerful. But it wasn't _that_ angsty, now was it? *shakes head fervently* No, of course not. You might be right about the strangers being rangers, you know. *g* Great to hear that you enjoyed the story, thanks a lot for your reviews!  
**Firnsarnien** - ROTFL! My alter ego has done WHAT? She has 'beaten (me) into submission and has (me) cowering in a corner at her every whim'? That IS a very interesting idea.... *snicker* Well, it's nice that you liked the elf angst so much, but you know what they say, all good things must come to an end? I mean, I can't keep torturing the twins _forever_, now can I? *wicked grin* Now that you mention it though... Uhm, the CLF will branch off? Into the EELF? Now _that's_ a scray thought! Oh, and I truly hope that you managed to get a tighter hold on your alter ego than I. Bloody insane my one is, honestly... *huggles* Thanks for the reviews!  
**YunaDax** - Yup, you're definitely right. Angst is at least as good as a bubble bath, even better if you ask me - unless it's a vanilla or orange scented one, then nothing can compare! *g* Don't worry, there's still some more angst to come; Angst all around! Yay!  
**Firniswin** - Well, I don't read fantasy at all, really. LOTR is the about the only fantasy book I have ever read I guess - and somehow I have no trouble finding books I like. I could walk into a bookstore and buy 200, at least! *g* And the cliffies aren't my fault - it's all my alter ego's, I swear! Thanks for all your reviews! I enjoyed them a lot! Oh, and PS: I just thought of another problem: If I would indeed write a book, it wouldn't be in English. My English isn't good enough for that!  
**LittleSaiyanGirl** - Thank you! It's nice to hear that you're enjoying the story - even though it's almost over! Thanks for the review! *huggles*  
**Mouse5** - Well, I _could_ change my name to "She who loves to torture Elves" - but it's not entirely correct! I love to torture other people too - rangers, for example. *evil grin* But I like "She who loves to torture her readers" - to say that that's not true would be an outright lie... *g* Great you like it! Thanks a lot for all your reviews!   
**Suzi9** - Really? I'm sure your cooking isn't that bad! It's always the most wonderful cooks who are telling everyone how bad their cooking is! Where are you living then? I didn't know Scotland (?) was that dangerous! Jiu-Jitsu, huh? I did Judo for a year in school and enjoyed it a lot - I kinda like pinning people to the ground. Oookay, that sounded wrong on soo many levels... *g* And I can imagine that nobody wanted to go to England for a holiday in your village - I was in Scotland a year ago (only for two weeks, regrettably), and it's still amazing how much underlying, well, 'hostility/annoyance' there is! It's just like here, don't ask me what I think about Bavarians - they're very strange, believe me! *g* And you know what? One of the most terrifying experiences of _my_ life was being thrown into a school in a village/very small town. When you've grown up in a city it's horrible! Oh, and: It all IS Kaeera's fault. I wouldn't have written a twin fic - now that I have I'm rather glad though, I admit that... Glad you give Drákon REAL food now. How is a dragon supposed to grow without orc-flesh? I hope you enjoyed your night out, btw!  
**Iverson** - Well, you can never have too much angst and pain, can you? *shakes head* Nope. Impossible. *blushes* Thank you. It's great you like the twins in my weird little story. I love them, they're simply adorable! *huggles her twins* And nope, revenge is never simple. It _always: is a bad idea if you ask me - no-one ever listens to me... *sighs* Uhm, about the tumbling thing: Elladan only fell because the edge of the ledge broke off. He had first gotten Elrohir as close as possible to the cliff face to be able to tend him properly, and so only his part of the rock crumbled. Elrohir got lucky - for once, I guess... *g* And don't worry - I would never kill the twins. Well, yes, I would, but not in Kaeera's birthday story. She's obsessed with Elrohir and would surely kill me in a most painful way... *g* Well, how could I leave you at that point? To be perfectly honest, I don't really know myself - being evil helps, I guess... *evil grin* Thanks a lot for all your huge reviews! *huggles*  
**CrazyLOTRFan** - *thundering* I don't want to hear a single word about RotK! I am going to see it on Sunday, and until then I don't - want - to - hear - a - word! *g* Glad at least one person likes my cliffies! But I could have known, it's you, the _mentally unstable_ Canadian girl after all... *g* Still, I hope you had lots of fun watching RotK! I'm sure it's great - but I will patiently wait for another two days...  
**Nikara** - Yeah, I guess, we love the twins _because_ they're stupid. It's kinda refreshing... But you're most definitely right: Our boys DO need some help! And don't worry, they're going to get it. Eventually. *evil grin*  
**Sabercrazy** - Uhm, is it possible to kill a website? I have never managed to do so before - but I wish you luck! I am very sorry though I missed your death threats - I do love them, really! They give me that warm, fuzzy feeling in the pit of my stomach... *g* LOL, your other weapon, the Spork of Pain and Slow Death? More threatening than a lightsabre by far... And don't worry, I am seriously contemplating putting some Glorfindel torture into my other story. I figured that if I had Estel torture, Legolas torture, possibly Celylith torture and twin torture I could have Glorfindel torture as well. You know, fairness and all that... *g* Besides, you're right. Glor deserves some torture of his own... *evil grin* Poor elf. Oh, and yes, it just might be Rangers. Just might, of course. *g*  
**Kaeera** - Na, so lange du die Kapitel liest, ist es doch okay. Ist doch deine Geschichte, du musst ueberhaupt nicht reviewen... Dein Terminplan hoert sich auch um einiges voller an als meiner. Na ja, ich kann ja auch kein Saxophon spielen... Ach ja, heute ist ja auch der letzte Schultag. Gratulation zu den Ferien! Ich muss irgendwie noch tausend Dinge erledigen vor Weihnachten, aber das ist ja immer so, nech? Und es ist doch sehr schoen zu hoeren, dass du die ganze Elrohir Angst und Pain und weiss der Geier was geniesst. Ich dachte mir doch schon, dass dir das gefallen wuerde... *g* Also, ich hoffe du mochtest die Geschichte! *knuddel*  
**Mystic Girl1** - Ich mochte deine Dúnedain KG! War ueberaus amuesant... Schoen zu hoeren, dass es deinen Ohren wieder bessergeht! LOL, siehst du, Legolas waere in der Tat in der Lage, dich fuers blosse Antasten seiner Pfeile zu erwuergen! Verrueckter Waldelb, das ist er... Und es ist sehr schoen zu hoeren, dass dich das Kapitel geruehrt hat. Nein, nicht nur, weil ich es geniesse, meine Leser zum Weinen zu bringen (*g*), sondern auch weil auch ich etwas geruehrt war. V.a. in diesem jetzigen Kapitel - aber nicht so schlimm wie Kapitel 8 von To Walk in Night. Jesus, Maria und Josef, ich sag dir, da war ich fertig! *g* So, und ich hab' erst heute gepostet, das heisst du kannst morgen lesen. Nett von mir, hm? Ach, und ich hab' noch immer keinen guten Ripper. Toll.  
  
**I know, this is getting old, but still: Thank you for all your wonderful reviews! Come on, group hug! *huggles reviewers***  
  
  
  
  



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